


Fugue State

by velvetverve



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Accidental Cuddling, Accidental Kissing, Anxiety Attacks, Awkward Boners, Cute Kids, Deacon's everyone's favorite weird uncle, Dog Tags, Dogmeat is a Good Boy, Dorks in Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Everyone Thinks They're Together, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Jealousy, Mac is kind of a pervy twenty two year old, Major Original Character(s), Male-Female Friendship, Mentions of Suicide, Musicians, Mutual Pining, Non-Bostonian SoSu, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pianist Sole Survivor, Piano, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Road Trips, Slow Burn, Snipers, Sweet/Hot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:00:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 69,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27033079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetverve/pseuds/velvetverve
Summary: “Alright. My price is two hundred and fifty caps. Up front. No room for bargaining.”She tilted her head, “You don’t even know what the job is yet.”Mac sat back in his chair, “You a slaver?”“Nope.”“Child murderer?”“Nuh uh.”“Cannibal?”“No siree bob.”“Then I don’t really give a— I don’t really care. Just don’t put a bullet in my back and you’ve got yourself a deal.”Miriam Braxster. That's what it said on her driver's license. That's how conductors introduced her. It's a name she'd hoped one day would be printed on a brass plaque on a door in some prestigious conservatory. And it's what it said on the very top of sheet music the world didn't even get to listen to before it destroyed itself.Mac's pretty sure the only place Robert Joseph Maccready has ever been written down is on the note tucked into the basket his parents left him in.
Relationships: Deacon & Female Sole Survivor, Robert Joseph MacCready/Female Sole Survivor
Comments: 88
Kudos: 70





	1. The Girl And Her Dog.

The Third Rail was quiet that day. The frigid air of February had driven everyone inside, but the bacchanalia that usually echoed inside the bar had dulled to a lazy atmosphere. Even Magnolia was absent, her band playing slow jazz that echoed into Mac’s ears in the next room. It did nothing to settle his bad temper.

Sure, the “VIP” room he’d set up in was devoid of people and their dumbass conversations, but that also meant it lacked their body heat and those big, bright lights that colored the main bar. He’d drawn his duster tighter to him, stuffing his chin into his scarf as he nursed a beer that could honestly qualify as lukewarm brahmin piss in a bottle. He was almost jealous of the “Gun 4 Hire” sign next to him, basking in the tinted light from that weird, velvety lampshade. Fuck, why was everything in this room red, anyway? Stupid fucking universe was trying to rub it in or something. Warmest color and it was freezing in here. Pissed him off.

And then, Winlock and Barnes walked in. Because of course they did. Of course they found him here when he was already cold and angry. He couldn’t have been doing a job for Daisy, or up in Hancock’s room. No, of course not. He had to be here. After he’d been dodging them for _months._ So, that just had him _more_ pissed off.

“Can’t say I’m surprised to see you in a dump like this, Maccready.”

Mac sneered at Winlock and his stupid mohawk haircut. He always thought it made him look like someone played a joke on him. Shaved half his hair off while he was sleeping or something. He adjusted his hat and looked up, “I was wondering how long it would take your bloodhounds to track me down, Winlock. What’s it been, five months or something? Don’t tell me you’re getting rusty.” He watched Barnes’ hand twitch and stood, angling his chin upwards, “Should we take this outside?”

Winlock elbowed the darker man next to him and sniffed. “It ain’t like that. I’m just here to deliver a message.”

Maccready watched something move the curtain in the doorway and narrowed his eyes. Of course. Sent a third to ambush him while he was distracted, huh? He tightened his hands into fists, “In case you forgot, I left the gunners for good.”

Winlock narrowed his eyes, “Yeah, I heard. But you’re still taking jobs in the Commonwealth. That ain’t gonna work for us.”

The curtain was drawn back and Mac’s eyes flashed to the doorway. A redheaded girl peeked in, adjusting the glasses one her face before tiptoeing through the doorway and positioning herself next to an armchair, waiting politely with her hands folded. Not a gunner, obviously. Weird. Mac tore his eyes away to cast the most acidic look he could muster up at Winlock. “I don’t take orders from you. Not anymore. So why don’t you take your girlfriend and get out of here while you still can.”

Barnes lurched forward and Maccready heard a strange clicking noise near the door, followed by a loud bark that had both Winlock and Barnes jumping and whipping around to face the entryway.

The girl gave a small wave and smiled, “Oh! Sorry boys. My boy Dogmeat here just can’t stomach unnecessary violence. Or bullies.” She had pointed downwards to a large, fluffy german shepherd at her feet, sitting stock still and staring with intense focus at Barnes. “Carry on. Just no rough stuff, okay? Otherwise I can’t be held responsible for whatever happens to your balls.”

Mac snorted and she glanced over at him, winking before turning back to the two men her dog was about two seconds from eating. 

“Look lady—”

Barnes had stepped forward, but Winlock placed a hand on his shirt and turned him back around to face Maccready. “Look here, _Maccready._ The only reason we haven’t filled your body with bullets is because we don’t want a war with Goodneighbor. See, we respect other people’s boundaries. We know how to play the game. Something you never learned.”

Mac smirked, “Glad to have disappointed you.”

Winlock chuckled, “Yeah, you can play tough guy all you want. But if we hear you’re still operating inside gunner territory, all bets are off. You got that?”

Mac rolled his eyes, “You finished?”

“Yeah...we’re finished.”

“Ugh...thank _god._ ”

The girl had spoken again, this time sat in a chair with the stuffing poking out of it, one leg thrown over the arm. Her dog was still sitting stiff in the exact same spot. Barnes looked absolutely bewildered.

“You know this girl?”

“Sure. She’s a part of my growing fan club. What do you care? Winlock, take your dumbass guard dog and get out of here.” Damn. That’s tally number three for today. But how was he expected to watch his mouth around those two assholes?

Both men looked like they wanted to argue but left anyway, grumbling as the girl in the corner cast them a bright and totally fake smile. Once they passed she turned to Maccready, still grinning.

“At ease, Dogmeat.”

The dog immediately relaxed, licking his chops and settling to lay down on the floor. Mac lit a cigarette and scoffed. 

“Weird name for a dog.”

“Well I didn’t pick it, tough guy. He did. So shut up before you hurt his feelings.”

Mac squinted and looked her over. She was kind of...scruffy looking. Or mismatched might be a better word. The tortoise shell glasses on her face had tape holding them together at the bridge, and her ginger hair was probably twice the size of her head, frizzy and curly. She had on a light green turtleneck with a pink striped scarf looped about the neck, all under a brown leather jacket with furry lining and a nuka cola grape bottle cap pinned to the lapel. Her chucks looked like a yao guai had chewed them up and spit them out, and her jeans were held up with a grommet belt. His eyes quickly scanned over a rip in the knee of them, slightly stained with dried blood. 

Odd. Everything about her was just slightly off. A girl this scrawny mouthing off to two giants like Winlock and Barnes was even more odd. She was trying to hide her stature under the jacket, too, but he knew that trick. The only weapon she had on her was a tiny pistol with a silencer on it in a thigh holster. Not odd, then. Just batshit crazy. Although the silencer suggested she wasn’t a stranger to combat, just wasn’t the loud and hard type. Or maybe she’d picked it off some poor dead bastard and had no idea how to use it. Hard to say. The rip in the knee of her jeans said clumsy, but she was long legged and lythe. Hard to imagine her bumbling around on unsteady feet. Her eyes were sharp, too. Wide, but shrewd. Huh. Maybe this could work. ...Maybe.

He blew smoke from his lips and sighed. “You’re worried about me hurting your dog's feelings?”

She folded her arms and stared up at him. “Well, yeah. I’m certain he understands english. Absolutely certain. I’ve got a working theory that he's an alien or something.”

Her voice was...odd. Had an accent he couldn’t place. Just barely sounded like some of the gangsters he met around here. The ones who borrowed their personalities from old prewar movies. She was still sitting weird in the armchair, fully sideways as her leg hung over one arm. Didn’t see him as a threat, he guessed. Her mistake.

“Great. A girl and her alien dog. What do you want?”

“Straight to the point then, huh? That’s fine. No nonsense. Good for you.” She hopped up gracefully and crossed the room, stopping about two feet in front of him. His eyes flashed to the jingling dog tags around her neck, mostly hidden by the scarf. “The name’s Miriam Brax— Miriam Gallagher. Have you heard of me?”

Oh, the _vault dweller_. The one Hancock would talk about. Had a little crush or something. Funny, she didn’t really seem like Hancock’s type, with his type usually being half clothed and half drunk. He called her something else, though. Something he couldn’t quite remember at the moment.

“Right. The legendary sole survivor or something. That you?”

“Aw, shucks. I wouldn’t say _legendary_ or anything...awe inspiring, maybe. Heroic, sure. _God-like_ has been said by more than a few, but legendary’s pretty good, I guess.”

She gave him a bright, toothy grin and he remembered. Hancock called her Sunshine.

He found himself slightly smiling through his cigarette in return. “Right. So, what’s a legend doing talking to a hired gun?”

“Well, you’re not hired yet, are you? Cause that’s what I’m here for. Legends do require an extra gun every once in a while, ya know.”

“Alright. My price is two hundred and fifty caps. Up front. No room for bargaining.”

She tilted her head, “You don’t even know what the job is yet.”

Mac sat back in his chair, “You a slaver?”

“Nope.”

“Child murderer?”

“Nuh uh.”

“Cannibal?”

“No siree bob.”

“Then I don’t really give a— I don’t really care. Just don’t put a bullet in my back and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

She threw her head back and laughed, “Put a bullet in your back? Don’t be silly. I’d just put one in your noggin. Much faster that way.” She tossed a canvas bag full of caps onto the table next to him and stuck out her hand, “Glad to make your acquaintance, Maccready.”

He took her outstretched hand and shook. Long fingers, delicate and soft save the barely there callous on her trigger finger. Not a hard labourer, then, but experienced with a gun. Still, she felt so...dainty? He felt like if he squeezed hard enough he could break all the bones in her hand.

“Yeah. Sure.”

She released his hand and looked at the watch with the shattered face on her wrist. “Well, it’s about four o’clock. Would you like to head out now, or spend the night here?”

Oh, _man_ , was he bored half to death sitting around here. “Let’s get a move on. No sense wasting time.”

She grinned. “I agree completely. Let me grab my things and we’ll be on our way.” She marched over to the curtained doorway and looked over her shoulder, “Come on, slowpoke.”

Mac grabbed his pack from the floor and slung his rifle over his shoulder. Her dog stretched, yawned, and watched him approach, taking his spot beside both of them as they walked out of the bar. Weird. She hadn’t even given him any sort of command.

Damn dog _was_ an alien.


	2. Stringbean And The Sharpshooter.

“So, I have a little place in town. Real swanky, you know. Old theatre manager’s officer above the Memory Den.”

Gee, she talked a lot. Hadn’t stopped jabbering since they left the bar. She was leading him toward the Memory Den’s grand entrance, with the big marquee and the very misleading “Girls! Girls! Girls!” sign. Sure, Kent Connolly _acted_ like a big whiny girl, but he wasn’t one. And Irma was never gonna give him the time of day. Just give him that little smile and call him “kid.” God, he hated that look. He wasn’t _that_ young.

“It was a hell of a time getting furniture up there. But I did. I sure did. Have you been just hanging around here for long? I made quite a commotion on...more than a few occasions. I feel like I would’ve met you.”

She opened the big double doors into the den and held them open for him. Mac frowned and walked through, “Uh...I heard about you, I guess. Daisy has me doing stuff for her sometimes. Hancock, too.”

“Bobby No-Nose?”

He scoffed. “No. Do I look like an idiot?”

She chuckled. “Never ask a question you don’t want the answer to.”

Mac bristled a little at that. If he looked like an idiot, she was _hiring_ idiots, which obviously made _her_ the…oh, whatever. 

Dogmeat barked and ran over to Irma, who was perched on her fainting couch like some kinda...feather clad temptress. Mac sighed. It just wasn’t fair.

“Hiya, kid. You and the mutt doin’ okay?”

Irma scratched Dogmeat behind the ears and the stupid thing practically melted under her touch. Lucky dog. Miriam gave Irma a quick kiss on the cheek and grinned. “Just fine, Irma. Break any hearts lately?”

Irma held up the small paperback she had been reading when they walked in. “No, but Miss Emily Brontë sure is breaking mine.”

Miriam laughed and continued toward the back rooms, Dogmeat begrudgingly following behind her. Maccready tipped the brim of his hat up and grinned.

“You ever need somebody to mend that broken heart, Irma—”

“Sure, sure, Maccready. I’ll call you up just as soon as you get your first chest hair.”

She was still smiling down at him, all good humour and bright friendliness. Mac shrugged, grin still painting his face as he trudged after Miriam, who was waiting in a doorway with her eyes narrowed.

“What?”

“Oh, wipe that smile off your face, you big flirt. I can’t believe you.”

“I’m sorry, your highness. Didn’t mean to offend your delicate sensibilities.”

She rolled her eyes. “You didn’t offend me, genius. You’re just aiming for the unattainable. Irma’s never gonna go for it. You’re smarter than that.”

He shrugged, “Fun to try.”

Miriam laughed, “Alright, lover boy. You go for it. Shoot for the stars.”

She marched forward with her dog at her heels up a narrow, winding staircase that led to a thick wooden door with a paper sign attached to it. “Sunshine’s Place” was written in yellow paint across the paper with a little sun painted in the corner. He really hoped she put that up there and not Hancock. But the mayor wasn’t really known for subtlety. 

When she finally fished the keys out of her jacket pocket and opened the door, the sight of her little apartment was...slightly overwhelming. It was one cluttered little room, filled with color. There was a bed shoved into the corner to his right, with a bright yellow quilt and a multicolored sort of...crocheted afghan stretched across it. A makeshift kitchen was to his left, just counters stretched against one wall, with a hotplate and a sink and a coffee pot he could see his reflection in. A woman he recognized sat at the far end of the apartment, reading an Unstoppables comic in a small living room tucked between the windows that looked out into the town and a small room that must be the bathroom. It took him a moment to recognize her, without somebody else's blood on her and with the army pants and a tee shirt instead of that silly brown leather get up she used to wear, but it was totally her.

“Is that Cait? From the Combat Zone?”

Cait looked up looking agitated and half-bored but grinned as her eyes settled on him. “That’s me. Maccready, right? Sharpshooter?”

Miriam looked between them. “You two know each other?”

“Yeah, I uh...visited the Combat Zone a few times. Before you had to be a raider to get in the place, that is.”

“That’s why I skipped the damn place. That and stringbean over here shot it up. So, I ditched the psycho and now I’m knocking more heads together than ever, would you believe it?”

Mac furrowed his brow. “No, actually. I wouldn’t believe it.” He turned to Miriam, “You cleaned the raiders out of the Combat Zone, _stringbean_?”

He watched as her cheeks went slightly pink. “Me and...a friend of mine, yes. And you can call me _Midge_ , thank you.”

He chuckled slightly and raised his hands up in surrender, “Just quite a feat, is all.”

“I did tell you I was god-like. Awe inspiring. Striking fear into the hearts of men.”

Cait scoffed as she read her comic and Mac silently agreed. Nothing about the bright green sweater and the girly pink scarf was screaming “fearsome warrior.” And he hadn’t even started on the glasses. 

Midge marched over to the cherry red couch Cait was lounging on with her nose held high in annoyance. Mac struggled not to notice that she had...kind of a nice ass. Okay, not even kind of. She did. But he shouldn’t be staring. She was the boss, after all. It was just that he was willing to let her be the boss in _all kinds_ of ways if he was being honest.

Oh, come on, Maccready. Keep it in your pants and get paid. Easy as pie. 

Midge grabbed her pack from the floor and grabbed a nice ass rifle with wooden furniture from its place on the wall before turning to him and pushing up her glasses. “You ready to head out, Maccready?”

“Ready whenever you are, boss.”

She smiled brightly and made her way towards the door. “Alrighty then. Try not to get into too much trouble while I’m gone, will you Cait?”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Midge ducked out the door and stuck her bottom lip out. “Aw, I love you too!”

~

Turns out they were heading for some raider encampment in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Something to do with the Minutemen. Stupid settlers complaining or whatever. He couldn’t understand why they couldn’t just...defend their towns themselves. Why people didn’t seem to want to bother learning how to shoot a damn pistol was beyond him. Plus, she wasn’t even being _paid_ to do this. And she hired him to help her. She was _losing_ caps taking these assholes out. Batshit crazy, indeed.

“So, the Minutemen. What stock do you have there?”

Midge was mindlessly humming and tapping out a strange rhythm on her thigh with her fingers, stopping when she heard him pipe up behind her. The dog trotted to his left, completing their little triangle.

“I’m friends with General Garvey. Helped him out of a little jam once. Something about a deathclaw and a tragically ruined museum. Maybe I’ll tell you the story sometime.”

“Right. So you just...do stuff like this for them?”

She shrugged, walking backwards across cracked concrete. Kinda stupid. “Sometimes. He actually offered me the position of General before he took it. Can you believe that? But I’m more of an independent operator, myself.” She grinned devilishly, “A real lone wolf type. You feel me?”

“Yeah. I’m...pretty much the same way.” He huffed, “Would you stop walking like that? You’re gonna fall and kill yourself.”

“Pfft. No I’m not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

Mac scoffed, “What are you, twelve?”

“Ugh.” She finally turned around, “Why does everyone always say shit like that to me.”

Mac smirked and stared at the back of her head, “Maybe cause you look like you’re about twelve years old.”

“I do not!”

“Do too.”

"No, I do not!"

"Yeah, you do. It's the chubby cheeks. You've got a baby face."

“I do not—”

She had whipped her head around to gripe at him and tripped over a large crack in the concrete, literally exactly like she said she would and he reached out for her, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her backwards. She stumbled from the force of it and ended up pressed against his side.

“What did I just say.”

“That wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t being such an _ass_ —”

“I am always right. It’s fu— freaking incredible.” He squeezed down slightly on her arm, “I can tell why Cait calls you stringbean, by the way.”

She wrenched her arm away and marched forward with her nose up. Damn, she needed to stop doing that. Made him wanna stare at her ass every time.

“What’s with the cursing, anyway? Or lack thereof.”

“Huh?”

“You think I’ve got something against naughty words? Well, guess again, motherfucker—”

“No, no, I just…” Shit, what was he supposed to say here? Definitely not the truth. Mac paused for a moment, his brain rifling rapidly through excuses. “I was just trying to treat you like a lady, is all. Use nice language in front of girls and all that.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t think you’re a lady anymore, anyway. So don’t worry about it.”

“Excuse me? I’m every inch a lady, thank you.”

Maccready raised one eyebrow, “Every inch, huh? Prove it.”

Midge gasped and turned around, stopping in her tracks. “ _Excuse me?_ ”

Mac broke into laughter at her flabbergasted impression and she huffed, playing at annoyance even as he watched the corners of her mouth twitch. “You’re more than a flirt. Sleazebag. That’s what you are.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“I bet you have.”

She just barely mumbled it and Mac snorted. She’s all pissy with him, huh? Well, whatever. It was cute, anyway. 

That particular thought hit him like a sucker punch to the face and he shook his head. Can’t be thinking like that. Sure, she was kinda pretty. Really pretty, actually, underneath the taped together glasses and the constant jabbering. But he was trying to get paid, here. Couldn’t let this get complicated. 

So just this one job, then. Get paid and get out. Seemed simple enough.

“We’re getting close, big shot. Safety off. Just before sunset, too. How lucky.”

Shit, could she not stand to just say one thing at a time? Mac clicked the safety on his rifle and sighed. Time to earn his caps, then.

~

It was altogether a pretty easy job. Suspiciously easy, actually. She was a perfectly fine shot, not great, but fine. It took the two of them almost no time at all to take the raiders out. It was just some shitty, open air shanty town that they’d taken over, and all they really had to do was perch themselves up on a hill and take them out one by one. Simple. The only difficulty was avoiding her dog as it ripped through raiders with an almost...frightening amount of zeal.

The problem was, it was way too simple to be worth two hundred and fifty caps. 

By the time the camp was clear and they had picked it through for supplies, (which she let him have first pick of, which was also incredibly suspicious,) it was dark, and she suggested making camp nearby and heading out in the morning.

Nope. This was fucking weird.

Mac stared at her from across the fire. She was chewing on some sort of jerky that she’d also given the dog, who was currently sleeping peacefully beside her. Or he looked like he was sleeping anyway. Mac could see his ears moving, responding to any noise that echoed through the night. Sneaky bastard.

“Well, Maccready. I must say, I’m impressed.”

He looked up, finding her staring intently at him, her face glowing a peach color in the light of the fire. “Thought you might be. Told you I was a damn good shot.”

“And humble, too. My favorite.” She chuckled and played with a small twig at her feet. “Really, though. I was paying attention. Almost every single one of your shots were perfectly placed headshots. Pink mist. The whole shebang. That’s talent.”

He narrowed his eyes, “Not that I don’t completely agree with what you’re saying, cause trust me I do, but can I ask what the he— heck you’re buttering me up for?”

She took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose, “Well, I suppose I’m just wondering where all that talent comes from.”

Mac folded his arms and leaned back against the log behind him. “I’m self taught. Completely. Picked up a rifle when I was ten and never looked back.”

“Ooh, what a lovely tenth birthday present from mommy and daddy.”

Mac bit his lip, “I, uh...never knew my parents, actually.”

There was a small stretch of silence and Maccready scolded himself. Too much. Nobody wanted to hear all his little sob stories.

“Oh. Well, they’re not all they’re cracked up to be, anyway.”

Mac tried to muster a smile and looked down his nose at her, “You know, from what I’ve hear, I may have gotten off lucky. Heard a lot of horror stories. And who needs parents, anyway?”

She snorted, “Everyone does. It’s just that so few of us actually get good ones.” She tossed a rock into the fire, “There’s the real rub.”

She was staring into the fire, her expression strange and distant. It was a look he hadn’t seen before. Jarring, really, on a face like hers. 

Mac leaned forward onto his knees and squinted at her, “What color are your eyes?”

She looked up, startled out of her thoughts and frowned. “Uh...just plain old brown. Why?”

He shrugged and fell back against the log. “Just wondering. They looked cool with the fire, is all.”

Like gold. Almost seemed like they were glowing. Plain old brown seemed like kind of an understatement. They were both silent for a while, and Maccready basked in the seemingly rare moment of silence before she spoke again.

“What would you say if I told you today was a test?”

He scoffed, “I would believe you.”

“You would?”

“Uh, hate to burst your bubble, boss, but clearing twenty raiders isn’t usually a job in the two hundred and fifty cap range.”

“Okay, so you were on to me.”

 _Yeah, except I totally thought it was some sort of weird trap._ “Yep.”

“Damn. And here I thought I was being so sneaky with my master plan. Guess I still need some lessons in subterfuge.”

“If it makes you feel better, I still have no idea what you want from me.”

“Oh! Well, that’s easy. You have, uh...a history with the gunners, yes?”

Mac felt his expression sour. “A brief one.”

“A bad breakup, I presume.”

“Major understatement.”

“Well, that makes you perfect for a job that I’m involved in.” He looked down across the fire to see her grinning with her chin in her hand. “How would you like to participate in the retaking of a major gunner stronghold?”

Mac sat up and narrowed his eyes. “Which one?”

She raised her hands up and wiggled her fingers, “Quincy!”

“Ha! No thanks. I value my life.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Absolutely not. You’d need an army to take that place.”

“What if I said we had the army?”

He frowned for a moment, eyes widening as realization hit him. “Oh. This is some sort of Minuteman escapade, huh?”

“Indeed.”

“So, what do you need me for?”

“Well, sweetheart. For one, you’re probably the best sniper I’ve ever seen. I would say don’t let it go to your head, but I think that ship has sailed. Two, you have gunner experience. You know how they think, how they work, and how they organize. That’s valuable. And three, I like you. Simple as that.”

Mac felt his ego swell as she looked back at him. “Huh.”

“And I’d pay you. So, there’s that.”

“Wait, you mean you’d pay me _again?_ Like, two separate jobs?”

She shrugged. “Well, yeah. I mean, the campaign to retake Quincy is in about two weeks, so the General tells me, and...a friend of mine is very interested in clearing it as well, but he thought we needed an edge. I think you’re that edge.”

There was that “friend” again. She always hesitated. Like she hadn’t thought about what she was saying until it was too late. 

“Who is this _friend,_ anyway? Your boy toy or something?”

“Ha! No. He’s, uh...he’s my partner. We work together.”

“Thought you said you liked to fly solo?”

“Well, mostly solo, anyway. And Dogmeat’s always around. That’s not really solo, is it?”

The mutt rose on hearing his name, standing with a large stretch and ambling over to Maccready, licking his chops and settling back down again with his head in Mac’s lap. Midge grinned.

“He likes you. That’s a good judge of character, you know.”

“Oh, great. The alien dog wants to sleep on me so that means I’m not half bad.”

“Well, I meant dogs in general, but I think the alien dog adds a little plus to your A, yeah? And don’t pretend you’re not scratching his ears right now. Try it a little lower on the left side. He’ll love you forever.”

Mac scratched the spot right behind Dogmeat’s ears and heard him let out a small sigh. Midge smiled and layed down on her bedroll. 

“Told ya so.”

“I’m taking first watch, huh?”

“No, Dogmeat is. He always insists.”

He looked down at the dog that was currently ragdoll limp in his lap and scoffed, “Yeah, right. He’s about to fall asleep on me.”

“I’m telling you, he’s never let me down. Trust me, if there’s something with a heartbeat within thirty yards of here, he’ll wake you up.”

Mac didn’t love the idea of trusting his life to a dog while he slept, but leaned back against his makeshift log pillow anyway. He’d just nap. Get a few hours rest and then take the rest of the watch. He shut his eyes and sighed. If she wanted to trust the dog to make sure nothing ate her in the dead of night, that was her prerogative.

~

Unfortunately, he never got a chance to implement that plan. 

When he started awake, there was something heavy on top of him. Not yao guai heavy, or Dogmeat got a little too snuggly in the middle of the night heavy, but definitely fucking _feral_ heavy. He rolled and grabbed the combat knife from his belt, pinning down whatever was on top of him before he was startled by a small whisper.

“ _Maccready!”_

He froze, “Miriam?”

Suddenly her hand was clamped around his mouth and he went to protest, but then another hand was pulling him down by the neck until he could feel her breath against his ear.

“ _Listen!_ ”

He stood as still as possible, ears straining to pick up any noise around them. There was a soft snarling that he realized was Dogmeat a few feet away, his hair puffed up and his haunches raised. Then, beyond that, a low, guttural growling that could only mean one thing.

Yao Guai.

He looked back at Midge, just barely visible in the darkness as her hand left his mouth and held up two fingers.

There were two of them.

Normally, in broad daylight, with two fully armed people, a yao guai would be...difficult. Not unfeasible, but definitely fear-worthy. _Now,_ in complete darkness, with two of the fucking things…

This could be bad. This could be really, really bad.

He finally realized that Midge was trembling underneath him, the hand she was holding up shaking along with the rest of her body. Her eyes weren’t looking directly into his either, and then he noticed she wasn’t wearing her glasses. She could barely see him, even as they were pressed together like this. Shit.

He slowly rolled off of her, listening to the low vibrations of the yao guai, hoping to gauge any change in their distance. He pulled her by the waist and she followed, still shaking badly as he pulled her with him, setting his back against the small cliff they’d set up camp next to. He pulled her between his knees and she pressed his back against his chest, trying to make herself as small as possible.

He whispered into her ear, “ _You can’t see anything, can you?_ ”

She shook her head furiously, her hand shakily grasping his and putting something hard in it. A pistol. Her little baby pistol. Dammit.

“ _Safety on?_ ” He asked.

She shook her head yes, and he clicked it off, holding her with one hand and holding the pistol out in front of them with the other, pointed towards nothing. Dogmeat had taken up post slightly to their left, guarding them as they cowered against the rocks. Mac could hear their lumbering footsteps, now. Not good. That meant they were getting closer. 

They stayed like that for what seemed like forever. Desperately listening for any sign of the yao guai drawing closer. Miriam was still shivering violently in his arms. How did she shoot shit when she was this afraid? And furthermore, how the fuck was this _peashooter_ she called a gun supposed to do anything to an animal that was seemingly made out of fucking lead?

Slowly, agonizingly slowly it seemed, the growls faded into nothing. They stayed like that for several more minutes, in fear and in silence before he slowly relaxed his grip across her torso. Miriam panicked, pushing herself backwards with her hands on his thighs, and yeah, he just now noticed that this position was _incredibly_ distracting.

“ _Boss, it’s fine. They’re gone._ ”

She shook her head, “ _Not until Dogmeat says they are._ ”

That...was actually sound logic, he supposed. Dogs could hear shit that humans couldn’t right? Made sense to wait until the dog was sure they were gone. 

He tightened his grip again and she seemed to relax ever so slightly, but boy did that make this whole situation _very_ difficult for him. She was just pressed so flush against him, and it was doing things to him that she’d very much notice if these yao guai’s didn’t just go ahead and fuck off already.

He felt her hand move and a soft curse leave her and he froze.

“ _What?_ ”

“ _Nothing. Don’t_ — _It’s fine._ ”

Huh. Okay. Seemed like now would definitely be the time to share any and all concerns, but whatever. Mac watched as Dogmeat slowly relaxed, padding over from his post and softly licking the small hand that was currently clutching his thigh, in a very, very distracting way. 

Midge almost sobbed with relief, going limp against him as Mac finally dropped his hand and relaxed his grip on her waist, letting out a breath he’d been holding since he’d been startled awake.

“Fuck, I really can’t see.”

He almost laughed, relief flooding through him even as his brain screamed at her to _please move before this gets very awkward for both of us._ But when she finally did move, she crawled blindly on all fours, her ass in his face as her hands searched around on the ground.

Mac let out a pained laugh and gingerly stood, stepping out in front of her before she killed herself fumbling around blind in the dark. “Just hold on there, specs. Let me get it.”

“Try my pack first. My pipboy has a flashlight.”

Her pack was just a foot to his left and he kneeled down to open it, fiddling with the small buckle on top of it before getting it open. He just blindly stuck his hand in, feeling some sort of cardboard thing, clothes he guessed, and then finally the hard plastic that could only be her pipboy. He pulled it out and just stared at it.

“Uh...boss—”

“It’s the little switch below the radio dial.”

He found the switch and flipped it on, green light pouring from the screen and nearly blinding him. Midge giggled slightly and it actually made him relax more than pissed him off. At least she wasn’t so afraid anymore.

He pointed the light towards the ground and immediately found her glasses neatly folded by her bedroll. He grabbed them and held them out before realizing she was still on the ground and...couldn’t see without them. Well, he never said he was a genius.

He knelt and placed the pip boy on the ground, taking her hand from the ground and placing the frames in them.

“Shit, thank you.”

“No problem. I didn’t realize you were so— Holy shit, boss, your face!”

She had tilted the pipboy upwards and it illuminated her face, and more noteworthy, the blood slowly gushing from her nose down her chin.

“Is it that bad? I felt it start but I wasn’t sure…”

She pulled a small hanky from her jacket pocket and started to shakily dab at the blood freely flowing from her nose. Her hands were still trembling. So much so, in fact, that it was kind of hard to watch her try to clean up her own face. 

“Here, just let me do it.”

She didn’t move, but she didn’t protest either, and Mac took that as a go ahead and took the small cloth from her, tilting her head back and slowly cleaning the blood that had painted across her mouth.

“Your, uh...your hands don’t shake.”

“I’m a sniper.”

“No, I know. I was just...wondering how you...made them do that.”

God, she bled a lot. Was she bleeding the whole time they were pressed against the rocks? “Boss, how do you not have blood in your mouth? It’s everywhere.”

“I do have blood in my mouth. I taste like pocket change. Answer my question, please.”

This would be easier if there wasn’t still blood slowly trickling down from her nose. “Uh, I don’t know. Like I said, I’ve been doing this since I was ten. Practice I guess. Tilt your head back.”

She obeyed and tilted her head back further, and he finally got most of the blood off before it was replaced. “Oh. I was hoping you could teach me. I get too...excited and I can’t shoot for shit. I can’t do anything for shit, really.”

“Yeah, I was wondering, actually.” He handed her the cloth and she took it, “There. Now stuff your nostrils or something.”

She held the cloth to her nose and kept her face tilted towards the sky. “It’s a problem. My weakness. My bane. My kryptonite. My—”

Mac sighed and held up a hand. “Please. Stop talking. We almost got mauled, like, five minutes ago.”

“Yeah, no, I get it. Everyone deals with stimuli in different ways. I’m a nervous talker. Can you tell? Bet you couldn’t. I hide it so well.”

She was smiling up at the sky, holding a rag to her nose and sitting on the ground and he laughed. “Nosebleed. That’s you. Taped glasses, literal, actual nosebleeds. You fit the bill perfectly.”

“You callin’ me a nosebleed?”

“Pretty sure that’s exactly what I just said, yeah.”

She laughed, then fell silent for a moment.

“Hey, Mac?”

“Yeah?”

“You got any plans for the next two weeks?”

“Can’t say that I do.”

“Well, you do now. Let’s put my caps to good use, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eee! Nosebleeds and yao guai and parental issues, oh my!
> 
> Let me know what you guys think! <3


	3. Little Punks And Princesses.

“You’re gonna get shot at wearing that.”

“Pretty sure I’m gonna get shot at anyway, yeah?”

“Yeah, but why give the muties a big pink target to aim at?”

“I like this dress, alright? And why’d you say big like that? Are you calling me fat?”

“Yep. You got me. Fatty.”

“You’re so rude.”

They were perched on a rooftop of some highrise in the middle of boston proper, staring down at a mutant nest stories below them. She wanted to wait until the sun was directly overhead so they wouldn’t have to squint against this sun, so how did she fill the time? By running her big fat mouth, of course.

“It’s February! Aren’t you cold? We’re like...ten stories up.”

“I’m wearing tights.”

“Those have got holes in them.”

“I challenge you to find a single article of clothing that I own that doesn’t have holes in it.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe you should fix that.”

“Says the man who’s coat only has one sleeve.”

“It’s cool! It’s a stylistic choice.” 

“No, yeah, I bet it is.”

“Well, then you would win that bet. Cause...it is.”

“What?”

“Just shut up.”

She laughed and put her chin in her hand, both of them staring out at the city below.

“Hey, Mac?”

“What.”

“Do you enjoy poetry?”

“No.”

She flopped her hand in the air, “Psh. Bet you do. You just try and act all grumpy and gruff all the time. Well, you don’t fool me, mister.”

“What a shame.”

She inched closer to his face. “I bet if I read you a sonnet right now you’d just start weeping with unrestrained emotion. Just manly, gushing tears.”

“You know what? You go ahead and try it. See what happens.”

“Oh, what are you gonna do, tough guy?”

“Toss you off the building, nosebleed.”

“Low blow, Mac. Low blow.”

“Yeah, one of those, too.”

“Puh-lease. Just wait here and I’ll go get my collection of Shakespearian sonnets. Don’t knock it until you try it, right?”

“I hate you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Mac thought for a second and sighed. Yeah, he didn’t believe himself either. They’d been traveling together for a couple of days now, almost a week, and he actually was starting to...like her. Even though she talked too much in her strange accent and hummed a lot and pretty much never let him have a moment’s peace, he liked her. Which was fucking weird, but whatever. Stranger things had happened. 

He turned and studied her face. “Where are you from?”

She returned his look and tilted her head, “That’s kinda outta left field. Boy, would I love to be a passenger on your train of thought. Choo choo! Next stop, nonsensical questions!”

“How did you just say so much without answering the question?”

“Brooklyn. New York City. Moved to Boston for college. And to get away from my dad.”

Whoa. Last he heard, New York City was pretty much completely flooded out. All but destroyed. The dad thing was interesting, though. “You and him fight, or something?”

“Well, not exactly. It’s...for a long time, he was one way, and then...something happened and he...was different. And neither version of him was very good at being a father.”

“Fair enough.”

He turned back to the skyline and she frowned. “That’s all? No burning, slightly nosy questions?”

“Feel like that’s your job.”

“You’re absolutely right. Okay! Here goes nothin’!” She laid her head across her arms and stared up at his face. “So, an orphan, huh?”

“Dunno. I was dropped off.”

“So you had, like, pseudo parents? Someone who raised you?”

“No, I uh...was dropped off at a place called Little Lamplight. Colony made entirely of kids. No adults allowed. When you turned sixteen, you left.”

There was a moment of silence and he turned to see her staring at him, mouth wide open and eyes sparkling. “Are you serious?”

“Uh...yeah?”

“How did you...survive?”

“Uh, like any other colony did? We all had jobs and sh— stuff. Pulled our weight. Watched each other's backs…” He stopped for a moment, wondering if he should continue. “I was the mayor. For a while. Until I left.”

Another long stretch of silence.

“I’m gonna need you to repeat that for me.”

Mac felt his ears turn red, “Oh, shut up.”

“Maccready, that is the most adorable thing I have ever heard.”

“It is not! The Capital Wasteland was rough shit. We had to deal with slavers and stupid muties coming in from murder pass—”

“ _Murder pass?!_ ”

“Yeah, boss. _Murder pass._ Colony full of children. Me in charge of all of ‘em.”

“That’s…”

“Ridiculous, I know. We were just lucky we survived.”

“No, that’s awful, Mac.”

He turned in surprise to see her face completely changed. The gleeful, cheery look was gone, and she was staring at him with sad eyes...and something remarkably close to...pity? He didn’t need pity.

“It wasn’t...It’s—”

She put a hand on his arm. “I didn’t realize...and people just left children there? They just left you there?”

That thought echoed around in his brain. How many times had he asked that exact same question, wondering what was so wrong with him that somebody would drop him off in a cave with nothing but a basket and a scarf and a slip of paper with his name on it. “Uh...yeah.”

She was nibbling on her lower lip now, scanning him over. “How long were you the mayor?”

“Until...I started when I was...ten, and then I left when I turned sixteen, so…”

“Oh.” She looked down at her lap and spoke, almost to herself, “That explains so much.”

“Explains what?”

“Well, of course you’re calm in a crisis. You had to be. You _have_ to be. That’s…” She looked up at him, eyes still sad and still making his stomach do somersaults, “I’m sorry, Mac.”

He shook his head, unsure what to do with the attention she was giving him. “That’s not...I don’t need you to be _sorry._ there’s nothing to be sorry for. It was...fine. It’s fine.” _I’m fine._

“I know. I know it’s fine. It’s just…”

 _Totally not fine,_ he thought.

Midge shook her head and looked to the nest below. “Well, the Capital Wasteland’s troubling lack of functioning orphanage’s aside, it’s high noon. You ready to shoot some muties?”

Oh, _finally_. Something he could do. In his comfort zone. Way better than talking about...all this. Made him feel weird. Strangely exposed.

He looked through his scope and angled his shot. Lone supermutant sitting just outside the building on an old rusted car. He took a dreep breath and held it, waiting until everything looked just this side of too still. He squeezed the trigger and saw the telltale pink cloud as his shot rang out and Midge whooped beside him.

“Excellent! Just superb, Mac. You have all the precision of a fine artist.”

He watched two more mutants stomp out of the building and smiled, “Gee, thanks, boss.”

“Any time.”

~

They cleared that nest, or rather, Midge watched while he cleared it, and then moved on further into Boston, taking out small bands of raiders and feral mutts, which Dogmeat was more than happy to help eliminate. She said she was “clearing trade routes.” For the Minutemen, he guessed. Although the strangely snarky way she said it and the small smile was...weird. Like it was some inside joke he was missing out on.

“Oh, sh— shoot, boss. Turn around. We’re heading straight into Boston Common.”

Midge kept walking, straight past the warnings written in spray paint and chalk. “There he goes with the cursing again. Say a naughty word, Mac. I dare you.”

“Okay. Turn the fuck around, Midge. I don’t wanna go fucking missing today.”

She turned around but kept walking backwards. He _hated_ that. “Ooh, those are some big boy words.”

They were passing the military vehicle that very clearly said “stay back,” when he grabbed her arm and pulled her to him. 

“Wanna hear some more? We’re not going through there.”

“Jeez. You’re very touchy, you know. Physically, I mean. Always grabbin’ me.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you’d just shut up and listen to me.”

“Well, I don’t _have_ to listen to you, do I? I’ve been...around here before, sort of. Skirted the edge, anyway. But if you’re too chicken you can go around and I can beat you to Goodneighbor.”

Oh, now he was properly steaming at the ears. She marched forward and he grabbed her arm again, but this time she turned and shoved him backwards.

“If you wanna wrestle, that’s fine. But it’s a waste of my fucking time.”

There was a fire in her eyes now, replacing her usual doe-eyed look with furious determination. Too bad for her, then. If this was a battle of wills, he was going to win.

“I’m not gonna let you parade your little ass into one of the most dangerous spots in the Commonwealth. You know how many people—”

“You’re not gonna _let me?!_ ”

“Would you keep your fucking voice down? You’re gonna wake up the swan!”

“Oooh, the _swan._ That stupid ghost story that keeps everybody—”

“Ghost story?! _That’s_ what you think the swan is?! Midge—”

Gunfire broke out abruptly across the square, far from where they were, but deeply concerning all the same. He pressed himself against the building to their left and looked out into the common. A group of raiders, guns blazing, had set their sights on the common. There were about...six of them, and he watched as one lobbed something directly into the pond.

Fucking idiots were going after the swan.

“Run.”

“What? Why? What’s going on, who’s shooting?”

“Just shut up and _run._ ”

He was pulling on her jacket, trying desperately to pull her down the opposite end of the street while Dogmeat growled in the direction of the common, when an ear-shattering roar shook the concrete below their feet. For just a split second, she froze, his hands on her shoulders as she looked at him, eyes almost impossibly wide with fear.

Then they both bolted.

She was faster than he thought she’d be. So far she completely avoided hand to hand combat, and he realized this must be her edge. She was fast and agile, so fast in fact that Mac was several feet behind her. They sprinted north down a narrow street, unbothered by raider gangs who had retreated inside the decrepit buildings on either side. The dog sprinted ahead of both of them as roars echoed from the common, and large crashes shook the ground beneath them. The block was ending and Mac spotted a small pharmacy on the street corner, door open and no traps. Hopefully empty.

“Midge! To your right!”

She whipped her head around and followed his direction, both of them turning sharply to the right and through the pharmacy door. Mac waited for Dogmeat to barrel through the doorway and slammed it shut, scraping a metal chair against the floor and shoving it against the door. Wouldn’t really do much to stop a motivated raider, but it would buy them time. Especially if some of them came this way. He’d never heard of the swan going too far outside the common, but he wasn’t about to try and trudge to Goodneighbor while that thing was still stomping around.

He turned to see Midge pressed against the back wall, breathing hard and staring at the door. 

“You alright, boss? Your eyes are the size of dinner plates.”

“We’re not...we’re staying?! I—”

He dropped his pack and grabbed his rifle, moving past her and behind the counter to check the back room. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t wanna be out there while that things out of it’s pond. Unless you wanna go back the way we came and waste half a day.”

“But— But what if it…” She took a shaky breath and closed her eyes. “Shit.”

The back room was a sort of office and store room that had long been picked clean. He looked back out at Midge and nodded his head towards the room. “In here. Swan comes this way he won’t even see us. Not to mention we’re currently surrounded by raiders.”

She was still frozen against the wall, and Dogmeat whined and licked her hand. That seemed to rouse her out of her strange, stiff state, and she inched over to where he was standing. Ducking into the small office and moving straight to the back corner, squeezing against the walls in an attempt to make herself as small as possible. Huh. He thought of her comment about “reaction to stimuli.” Seemed her typical reaction was fleeing. Run and hide. Interesting.

Mac closed the door and Dogmeat took up his post facing it. Midge had slid down to the floor, staring into space. 

“You okay?”

She looked up, “So...the swan isn’t a ghost.”

He snorted. “Nope. Not a ghost. I can’t believe that’s what you thought it was.”

“What _is it?_ ”

“It’s a behemoth. Supermutant behemoth.”

“Shit, I— I’m sorry.”

He frowned, “For what?”

“You were...fuck, are you gonna make me say it?”

It took him a second to realize what she was getting at, and he sat on the desk in the middle of the room, a smug smile spreading across his face. “Yeah. I am, actually.”

She took a shaky breath and met his gaze, “I’m sorry. You were...right. And I should have listened.”

If she hadn’t still been trembling in fear, it might’ve been funny that she seemed to have to force the words out of her. Mac sighed and took his hat off, running a hand through his hair.

“So, what’s this all about? The whole...hiding in corners thing. You seem to do that a lot.”

She laughed breathlessly and took off her glasses, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I uh...guess it’s always how I’ve reacted to big scary things. Run and hide. Only recently did those scary things become yao guai and... _behemoths._ ”

He frowned. “What the fu— what did you have to run from before? Before the bombs and all.”

She laughed again. “Let’s just say I wasn’t the most popular kid in school, alright?”

“Let’s say more than that.”

Midge looked up at him in surprise. He was strangely peeved. What on earth was chasing her down before every animal in the world was hell bent on killing and eating everything in sight? 

“There were these...kids. In school. I was kind of an ugly duckling little girl, which I’m sure is a big surprise,” she said, shooting him a wry look, “and this group of boys were hell bent on tormenting me. They were a year above me. Hugh Donowitz, Sammy Bergman and Danny Fritz. Shit, I still remember their names.” She tipped her head back against the wall. “It’s strange. Strange to think they’re all dead now.”

Mac’s unexplainable seething anger was cut abruptly with a sharp pang of pity. Here she was, grieving over her childhood bullies. He couldn’t imagine knowing everyone he’d ever met was dead. Couldn’t even come _close_ to imagining it.

“They never hit you, did they?”

Midge looked at him again. Which he understood perfectly. Even he didn’t understand why he was asking.

“Oh, sure. All the time. They’d chase me home. Corner me in alleys and throw things at me. The whole shebang. I never understood what I did to make them hate me so much.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Mac snapped. “They were just dicks. Gutless assholes that had to hit girls to feel better about themselves.”

Midge was looking at him _really_ strange now. Her brows were furrowed, and her eyes were blown wider than they were when they first dove into the pharmacy. She opened her mouth but hesitated, like she couldn’t get the words out.

“You sound just like Max.”

Mac frowned, “Who’s that?”

“My brother.” She shook her head, “That’s what he always used to say. He was a couple years older and ran with a...tough crowd, so they were always afraid of him. When he walked me home they would leave me alone.”

“He didn’t _kill_ the little twerps?” He would’ve. Publically. What kind of fuckhead beats on little girls with glasses?

She laughed, but then her face twitched. “He, uh...came pretty close one time actually. It was in high school. They cornered me behind the school and I decided, pretty damn stupidly, that day was the day I was gonna fight back. They didn’t take too kindly to it. Beat me up pretty badly. Broke my nose, even.”

If Mac clenched his teeth any harder, he was pretty sure they were just gonna shatter in his mouth. “They _broke your nose?!_ ”

She was fiddling with the laces on her sneakers, now. “Yeah. I came home all bloody and stuff. My dad wasn’t home, and when Max finally got there…” She shook her head, “Those boys didn’t come back to school the next day. For the next week, actually. They never chased me again, though. Not until…”

Mac frowned at her suddenly distant appearance. “Not until what?”

She was silent for a long time, staring at the peeling wallpaper next to her blankly. When she spoke, it was barely above a whisper.

“Not until Max died.” 

Mac froze, and the air abruptly turned heavy and thick around him. Midge shook her head. “He used to say exactly that, you know. “Don’t worry about it, Midge. They’re gutless. That’s all. Gutless assholes. And that’s one thing you’ll never be. You’ll never be gutless.””

Her voice remained steady and calm, even as she spoke in hushed tones. Mac’s anger had been completely shoved out of the way by these new, strange feelings mixing around in his stomach. There were a million different things he wanted to do and say. And ask. But he settled for,

“I’m sorry, boss.”

She looked up and smiled meekly. “Nothin’ to be sorry for.”

But there _was._ “And those kids were total dicks.”

She snorted, “Yeah, I guess they were. Hugh once put bubblegum in my hair. _My_ hair.” She gestured to the frizzy curls haloed around her head, “Do you know how hard it was to get that out?”

Mac laughed. “Can’t imagine.”

“I used up a whole jar of peanut butter on my head.” She saw Mac’s quizzical expression and explained, “Peanut butter gets the gum off. Don’t know why.”

“I don’t even know what peanut butter is.”

“That’s a damn shame. A real tragedy.”

Mac managed a smile and fidgeted a little on his spot on top of the desk. He felt a tad bit guilty. She had trusted all that with him and she had no idea who she was travelling with. He should settle the score. Even stevens, and all that.

“You wanna know how I became mayor of Little Lamplight?”

“Oh boy, _do I._ ”

Her eyes lit up and got that sparkly look that he was slowly finding out he really liked and Mac smiled. “Well. It all started when a girl named Princess—” 

“Her name was Princess?”

“Well, it was like a nickname. Everybody called her that, though. Pretty much everyone in the colony had a name like that.”

“What was yours?”

“Uh, Maccready?”

“But that’s just your name.”

“But it’s not my _first_ name, so there.”

“What’s your first name?”

“RJ.” Midge gave him a look through her eyelashes and he sighed. “ _Robert Joseph._ ”

“Oh, what a lovely name. Big name. Big name for a little boy to grow into.”

“Well, _anyway._ Mayor was pretty much picked by...well whoever wanted to be mayor kicking out the old one, I guess. So, one day Princess decides to tell everybody she’s the mayor now, only she doesn’t want to be called mayor, she wants to be called Princess.”

“What was her actual name?”

He frowned. “You’re concerned with the weirdest parts of this story.”

She giggled and shrugged, “I just wanna know!”

“Angela.”

Midge looked happily surprised. “You remember?”

“Of course I remember. Can I finish the story, please?”

Midge wrapped her arm around her legs and put her chin on her knees. “Well, since you said please.”

Mac sighed and soldiered on, “Well, Princess’s reign lasted about five minutes before I punched her in the nose.”

Midge laughed in surprise, “You what!?”

“Look, I was trying to impress a girl, okay? It had to be done. Plus, she was being a total bitch. I mean— Ugh. Whatever.”

“Which girl?”

Oh, man. He was hoping she wouldn’t ask that. This was supposed to be a fun, distracting story. Could get complicated real fast.

“The best girl,” he said. “Lucy.”

“Okay. So, you punch one girl to get the attention of a different girl.”

“The _best_ girl. Then, I told her Lamplight needed a leader, not a Princess, and that is an _exact_ quote, and boom! Mayor Maccready. At the tender age of ten years old.”

She laughed and threw up her hands, “What a hero!”

“The longest reign of any mayor ever, thank you very much.”

Midge tilted her head in a trademark quizzical expression that reminded him of the time a cat had wandered into Lamplight and had all those damn kittens. “Whatever happened to Princess?”

He swatted his hand in the air, “She guarded the back gate. Followed me around after, too. Told me she had a crush on me.”

“Aw, so you were a big flirt back then, too.”

He wrinkled his nose, “I did not _flirt_ with Princess. I punched her. Then she decided I was the biggest hunk of man meat around. Big difference.”

Midge adjusted her glasses. “Did you get your girl? Lucy, I mean.”

His stomach seemed to turn into a bowling ball and fall straight to the floor. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“That’s sweet.”

He shrugged, “I guess.”

She sighed and looked around the storeroom. “So, when are we gonna blow this joint? I haven’t felt a mini earthquake in almost ten minutes.”

Mac found himself grinning. “Make it fifteen and then we’ll split. I am _not_ sprinting away from that thing again. Trying to keep up with you was punishment enough, thanks.”

Midge smiled wide at the small compliment, “Maybe if you quit it with all the smoking your lungs would be in better shape.”

“Maybe if you didn’t run like a radrabbit my lungs wouldn’t have to work so hard.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you _want_ to be caught by that thing? Or are you just embarrassed I could run circles around you? Keep up or shut up, Mac.”

Mac raised his eyebrows, “Is that a joke? I could outrun you any day. Just wanted to watch your six is all.”

“Oh, I bet you were, slowpoke.”

“I was! You’re not even that fast.”

She suddenly stood up, “Oh, yeah? Them are fightin’ words, Maccready.”

He stood too and looked down his nose at her, taking advantage of their height difference. “Yeah? Maybe they are.”

A small, sneaky smile spread across her lips that had...interesting feelings heading south of the border. Oh, _no._

Midge adjusted the straps of her pack and narrowed her eyes. “You got it, shit-talker. Last one to Goodneighbor is a rotten egg!”

Before he could protest, she flew out the door and onto the street, running full speed towards Goodneighbor. Dogmeat whined at his feet and Mac cursed before the running after her.

Even the damn dog knew he was gonna lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'll notice, when Mac says Midge is running her big fat mouth, he's actually instigating all the questions. So, who's the big mouth really, Mac?
> 
> Spoiler alert: It's both of them.


	4. Chekov's Glasses.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay! It's finished! This chapter kicked my ass, but I am happy to report I kicked it right back.
> 
> Let me know what you guys think! <3

“Wait! Wait, stop. I’ve got mirelurk goo on my glasses.”

“Oh my _god._ ”

“I can’t _see,_ Mac.”

He watched her hopelessly try to wipe the goo of the lenses with one of the hankies she always seemed to carry and sighed. Took fucking _forever_. She’d scrub away at them and then have to put them on to see if she actually fixed it or not. Scrub them off, put them on. Scrub them off, put them on. Over and over and over. They were never gonna get to the Castle at this rate. 

“Just let me do it.”

Mac stomped over and took the glasses and the small rag from her hands and she sighed. “So impatient.”

Yeah, okay. This weird...mirelurk snot was _kinda_ hard to get off. “You take forever.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

She balled up her fists and stomped her foot, “Would you stop doing that!?”

He raised one eyebrow and smirked. “Aw, what are you gonna do, throw a tantrum? You need a binky or something? You big _baby._ ”

Midge pursed her lips, “Will you give me back my glasses? I can’t see well enough to burn holes in your head.”

“Just one second,” shit, this goo would _not_ come off. He licked the rag and scrubbed a little harder at the lenses and then held them up to the sun. Pretty clean, anyway. “There.”

Midge’s nose was wrinkled in disgust. “Did you just— Please tell me I’m mistaken.”

“What?”

“Did you just lick my hanky?”

“That’s what she said.”

“Mac!”

“What? You’re more grossed out by my spit than mirelurk snot?”

“I don’t know where you’ve been.”

Mac smirked, “Where my tongue’s been, you mean? Well, lemme—”

“Nope. Blegh. Stop.”

He chuckled and held out the frames, “Take your stupid glasses and let’s get a move on.”

She reached out a hand to grab them but missed by just that much, and Mac laughed and held them away. “You’re literally blind.”

She stung her tongue out and folded her arms. “Not legally. But I guess those laws don’t exist anymore, so whatever.”

Mac retreated and held up three fingers, “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Midge scoffed, “Of all the _asenine_ —” Her eyes flitted across him and her face faltered slightly, “I...if you could come like, three or four steps closer—”

Mac threw his head back and laughed, “Are you kidding? Midge, I’m like...ten feet away! What do I look like right now?”

She squinted and he almost started laughing all over again. “A big, fuzzy blob. I can tell that you’re a human person, if that helps. It's four. Four fingers?”

Mac felt his amusement get dragged down into the pit of his stomach as his concern grew. She couldn’t see ten feet in front of her. Without those glasses, she would be completely and utterly defenseless. He furrowed his brow as he stared at her, “Midge, how— What would you do if you didn’t have these? What if they break or something?”

She marched over and grabbed the arm that now hung at his side, those dainty, nimble hands sliding down his arm and slipping her glasses from his hand. “Then I suppose Dogmeat will just have to do as my seeing eye dog, huh? Won’t you boy?”

Dogmeat poked his head out from the pile of garbage he’d been rummaging through and wagged his tail. Mac watched her finally slip on her glasses and turn away from him and he frowned. “Boss, I’m serious. What’ll happen—”

“I don’t know, okay?!” She shouted it at him, and he tensed for a moment, waiting for someone or something to jump out from the shadows. He was shocked to find Midge’s face was bright red, and her hands were balled into fists. “And I don’t like to think about it, because I don’t fucking know! It’s not like this stupid world has a plethora of fucking _optometrists_ or anything so I guess I’d just be royally _fucked._ ”

Her voice cracked on her very last word and she growled, burying her fists against her eyes. Mac watched, bewildered for a moment at her sudden outburst. Midge sighed, “I’m sorry. I’m being—” She shook her head and smiled. The big, fake one he saw her give Winlock and Barnes the day they met. It made him...sad? Why on earth would that make him sad? “Let’s just get the hell out of here, huh?”

Mac nodded, handing the rag back to her and watching as she stuffed in her jacket pocket, now adorned with a little blue sash on the sleeve that had the Minutemen insignia embroidered on it. “Yep. You lead the way, boss.”

She took a deep breath and turned away from him. “Dogmeat! Get out of the fucking garbage.” The dog appeared again and leapt happily over, taking his place beside the two of them. She was absolutely right. The dog knows english.

~

“Holy shit! Preston’s been busy.”

Mac let out a pained laugh as he stared at the fort. _Busy_ was definitely an understatement. The thick stone walls had been patched with huge, slightly mismatched sheets of metal, and they were currently facing a large gate set in the biggest metal patched section. Mac shook his head, “This is _crazy._ ”

She turned her head and shot him a wicked smile, “Excited, are we?”

Mac fought to school his face into some sort of feigned indifference. “Me? Nah. Only thing I’m here for is one of those funny hats. Always wanted one of those.” 

Midge’s grin widened and she marched away, curving around the fort to a comparatively tiny, wooden pair of double doors in a wall near the lagoon. “Come on, dummy. You want a hat, I’ll get you a hat.”

The inside of the Castle was almost as impressive as the outside. Dozens and dozens of Minutemen clad in blue and khaki colors buzzed around the fort and Dogmeat let out a loud bark and dashed off to join them. Some were stationed as guards around the perimeter of the humongous walls, some were carrying crates back and forth, one woman was desperately trying to coral three large brahmin and a few soldiers were scrubbing soapy water onto the stone walls. Some of them waved, some didn’t, but she didn’t seem to be attentive to any of them. She was squinting and searching the crowd, for what, he didn’t know.

“Boss, this is incredible.”

“It really is. Preston’s done a bang up job, hasn’t he?” She was still only half paying attention to him, scanning the courtyard until her eyes fell on a man in full minutemen digs, swaggering across the courtyard with his arms outstretched. 

“Smidgen!”

Midge beamed, “Deacon!”

She ran forward and into his arms, and he groaned loudly as he lifted and spun her around. “You miss me that much, huh? Only been a few weeks, but who could blame you for missing a face like this, right?” She laughed and he grabbed her face with two hands, turning her head this way and that, “You’re still in one piece? Didn’t lose any limbs while I was away? Let’s see, two eyeballs, two ears, specs intact, one button nose,” he tweaked it and she laughed again, “too much hair, _still_ , but, hey, your head’s still on your shoulders, so I guess I should just count my lucky stars, right?”

“Absolutely. I could probably do with just the one eye though. I always felt like I could rock an eyepatch.” She turned, still grinning as she seemed to abruptly realize she had tugged along Maccready. “I, uh, brought our edge, by the way. This is RJ Mac—”

“Don’t worry, stringbean. I know who this guy is.” His tone had pitched down into something noticeably darker, but he was still grinning at him, like they were old friends. He also still had one arm around Midge’s waist, and Mac felt his temper spike as he watched his grip tighten, like he was shoving it in Mac’s face. “Ex-gunner, right? What a fabulous career choice.”

Mac grinded his teeth, “Emphasis on the _ex_ part.”

“Right, right. Of course. Now you’re a hired gun, right? Really movin’ on up in the world.”

He still had that big smile on his face, even as his voice dripped with sarcasm. Mac begrudgingly admitted that he looked like one of those old movie stars smiling like that. Maybe that’s why he looked so familiar. And maybe that’s why he wanted to blow his stupid head off. 

Midge finally seemed to sense the tension and broke in before Maccready could respond, “I think he’ll be a great addition. He’s definitely the best damn sniper I’ve ever seen.”

 _Deacon_ put a hand over his heart and gasped. “Including me?”

“Including you, dummy.” She kissed his cheek and Mac’s stomach dropped as she stepped away and waved a hand in his direction, “Now, let’s show the General my diamond in the rough, huh? Come on, Mac.”

Maccready felt his face get a little hot and frowned. He didn’t like feeling so out of his depth here. Or like he was a prized possesion to be showed off, but that was for...different, weird reasons. Midge talked too damn fast and her friend seemed to be playing a joke that no one was in on and this fort was _huge_ and he’d barely gotten a word in since they got here. Probably looked like a bumbling idiot. 

Mac sighed and trudged behind Midge as she practically skipped into the walls of the Castle. Deacon had matched his pace and completed the small triangle, giving him a cheeky smile which he ignored. Midge strolled along the stone hallway, also filled with people, and stopped at a pair of heavy wooden doors. She knocked in a pattern Mac didn’t recognize but apparently should have, because it drew a small chuckle from Deacon who was rewarded with that pretty, sparkly smile of Midge’s over her shoulder. “Yoohoo! Mister General Sir? Two hundred year old woman and a pair of snipers here to see you!”

“Excuse you. You’re two hundred and thirty four.”

Midge planted a hand on her hip and shot Deacon a mishcevious look, “Do you blame a girl for rounding down?”

Deacon smirked, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You don’t look a day over one ninety.”

Holy shit. He hadn’t really thought about that. He knew she was prewar, but somehow the thought that she was technically over two hundred years old hadn’t really hit him. And it must’ve shown, because Midge was laughing at him.

“Shocked you’ve been traveling with an old woman, Mac? Bet my racing victory stings extra bad now, huh? I’m remarkably spry, I know.”

Mac shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself, “Just hadn’t thought about it. It’s weird. But like, a cool kind of weird. Like...something out of a comic book.”

Midge gasped, “Wait a damn minute. Why has no one made a comic out of me yet?”

Finally the doors behind her opened to reveal a tall, dark skinned man in a large blue coat and some nice ass combat armor underneath it. The hat was kind of big and stupid, though. He smiled wide when his eyes landed on her, looking tired but chipper. “Miriam! Sorry, it’s a little...busy around here. Come on in, Ronnie and Sturges and I were just going over things.”

Miriam waltzed into the room with a comical amount of gusto, spinning and taking in the large chamber. “Wow, Preston. Really swankified the whole thing, didn’t you? I can barely smell mirelurk anymore.”

Well, Mac definitely fucking could. He had been wondering what that underlying fishy smell was. Preston beamed regardless. “Just bringing the General’s quarters back to their former glory. Maybe adding a few improvements along the way.” He guided the group over to a large wooden table in the center of the room, where a remarkably large man in overalls covered in grease stains and a woman with half her head shaved and a scowl that looked like it could bend steel sat staring at a large map in the center of the table. “Sturges has drawn up a map for us.”

“Wow,” Midge said, sitting on the opposite side of the table as Deacon flipped the chair next to her and sat as well, “Really putting that photographic memory to good use, huh Sturges?”

Sturges chuckled, “Yes ma’am.”

The woman sat next to him piped up, “The map is all well and good, but we’re flying completely blind as to where it’s guarded. And—”

“You’re absolutely right. Which is why I brought him.” Midge waved a hand over to Maccready. “Come sit down, Mac. I’m trying to give you a proper introduction.” Mac awkwardly sat in the chair to her right, trying to look tough and intimidating while Preston, Sturges and the other chick stared at him like he was a hard to solve jigsaw puzzle. “Maccready here is an ex-gunner. There’s not many of those around, and you know why? Because they’re dead. He passed my test, he’s smart as a fox, and this man can fucking _shoot._ So, I say, we listen to what he has to say about gunner protocol, then we slap him on the rooftops with me and Deacon, and bing bang boom, we’ve retaken Quincy. Easy as pie.”

Oh, no wonder he felt so weird. She was _selling_ him. Or trying to sell the idea of him, anyway. So that’s why he kinda felt like a piece of meat.

Preston raised one eyebrow, “You’re gonna be sniping, Miriam?”

She shrugged, “Sure am. Suits me better. Plus, it’s better than sticking me in close quarters. Hand to hand is more Dogmeat’s forte.”

“Still—”

“Don’t worry, Preston. I’ve had lessons. Top of my class, would you believe it?”

Deacon smirked, “And teacher's pet to boot.”

Maccready scowled. So that’s where she got her skills. Well, she still wasn’t all that great of a shot, so he must not be that good of a fucking teacher. He could probably teach her though. She’d already said that he was the better shot anyway, and—

Wait a damn minute. Why the fuck did he care?

“Okay. Okay, this might work.” Preston sighed and looked to Maccready, “Anything you can tell us? Where they’ll be, how they operate, how they organize, things like that?”

Mac laughed a little, “Oh, yeah. I can tell you loads. I mean, they’re basically raiders with more rules, even if they deny it.”

The woman piped up, pointing to the map, “What about positions? Anything you can tell us there?”

“Well, I’ve never actually been, but—” He looked down at the map. Big settlement, high buildings and ridiculously fortified. Sturges had even labeled the number of floors on each building. He studied the highway that was basically touching the town and smirked. Oh, yeah. He could tell them _exactly_ where all the squads were. Easy peasy.

“You got a pen?”

~

About an hour later, the map was covered in Maccready’s shitty handwriting, red circles and arrows sprinkled across the paper. They had a battle plan, sniper positions, the whole thing. Midge seemed slightly out of her depth, but attentive, Sturges and Preston had absolutely _glowed_ with excitement when they had finished, but Deacon barely said a word the whole time. Just sat there and watched it all go down. Like some kinda fucking creep.

Midge punched his arm as they walked down the hallway, positively beaming, “You were great, Mac! I’ll admit, some of my ideas haven’t gone over...great, in the past, but they ate you up like you were apple pie.”

Deacon smirked, “Oh, yeah. Ronnie liked you, I can tell. Don’t let the murderous scowl fool you, she’s a real teddy bear.”

Midge scoffed, “Oh, you think she likes him now? Wait till we get you on that rooftop, Mac. She’ll sing your praises with a full piece band.”

“Uh...yeah. Alright.” God, between the two of them there would never be a second of silence. And they were eerily similar, too. Both talked too much, both had the same wide, impish grin, although Midge’s was the only one that seemed to be genuine. Then again, that could just be cause stupid Deacon had on those fucking sunglasses. Hard to tell if a smile was real when you couldn’t see the dude’s _eyes._ They also had the same strange energy. Like something about them was slightly...off. Like they just might be totally off their rocker.

The fact that they were so similar was...confusing. Why was it annoying and infuriating on Deacon, but on Midge it was...something else? Maybe he was just seeing things. They probably weren’t that similar at all.

Deacon smirked, “Don’t get modest now, Mac. Doesn’t suit you.”

“Yeah,” Midge agreed, “I need cocky, blow a supermutants brains out, swaggering Mac. Complete our sniper’s threesome.” They reached another pair of doors and she turned, “Welcome to the team.”

Both Midge and Deacon shot him a huge smile, side by side, and he sighed. They were totally the same person.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, I’m more than prepared to shoot some gunners. Been prepared, actually.”

Deacon smirked, making Maccready feel, once again, like they knew each other somehow. “I bet you are.”

Midge kicked open the wooden doors behind her, “Hope you’re ready to mingle, Maccready. Cause if you’re not, you will be forced to do so against your will.”

The room behind them erupted with noise as they entered, the copious amount of people in the room all hollering happily at once. So Midge _was_ pretty well known around here. The room had two sets of bunks squished into a back corner, but the rest of it kind of just looked like a rec room. Mismatched couches with the stuffing poking out, chairs strewn everywhere as the soldiers sat and drank. Well, most of them looked like soldiers anyway. There were a small few not in full Minutemen digs. 

Cait was sitting on an overstuffed couch, a dark haired, _ridiculously_ pretty girl sitting primly on her lap. “Big D! Heyyy, _handsome._ You come all the way over here to see me?”

Deacon gave her that big moviestar smile Mac was finding out he really fucking hated, “How is it you alway recognize me, Cait? Huh? Am I slipping? Getting rusty?”

“Nah, sweetheart. I just recognize that tight fuckin’ jawline you’ve got. I could cut myself slapping that face of yours, you know that? Would really like to try, too.”

Deacon’s eyebrows shot sky high as Midge let out a shocked laugh, “Good god! How many drinks have you had, Cait?”

She grinned, wolf like and took another sip from her beer, “Several.”

The woman on her lap, who up until now was perfectly content sitting on Cait’s lap and looking like a pin up in a magazine, added happily, “If it makes you feel better Monsieur, it is always very difficult for me to recognize you!”

“Oh, Curie. Mon chéri. You always know just what to say.”

Yep. Mac recognized _most_ of those words. And what kind of accent did Miss Curie have anyway? He supposed he’d just have to find out himself. Which could be very fun if he played his cards right. She seemed the reactive type anyway, because whatever gibberish Deacon had just spouted had her cheeks a little pink. Fuck. Did every girl in this stupid place have the hots for that asshole?

Cait beckoned him over and he followed, watching as Deacon and Midge took the love seat pushed back against the wall. He didn’t like that they were that far away. Kinda pushed into their own little corner, too. That bastard.

“Mac.”

“Cait.”

“Tell Curie here she’s pretty.”

Curie gasped and swatted at the arm Cait didn’t have loose around her waist, “Arrête ce non-sens! My apologies, uh...Mac did you say? Cait is extremely inebriated.”

“I wouldn’t say _extremely._ ”

“For instance, she has repeatedly told me that I am not allowed to leave my position on her lap, despite the fact that I have made no attempt to do so. It is quite comfortable, actually. Cait is very muscular. I believe this must be why.”

Wowza, she was pretty. With that cropped, dark hair sitting in a loose wave across her forehead, pretty blue eyes...kinda seemed a little bonkers too. But hey, he liked crazy. Sorta.

Cait snorted, “Stop changin’ the subject. She’s pretty, right?”

Mac smirked and sat down on the wooden chair just behind him, “She’s _very_ pretty.”

Curie flushed pink and pouted, “Oh, stop it. You two and your teasing.”

“Why would I wanna go and tease a cute little thing like you?”

Cait started laughing as Cure folded her arms, holding her chin high despite the blush in her face slowly crawling down her neck. He wondered how far down _that_ went. 

“You are just like Monsieur Deacon! _Smooth talkers,_ as they say. That is all.”

Well _that_ had him a little peeved. Didn’t really need that kind of comparison, thanks. “Nah, I’m nothin’ like him, dollface. See, I actually follow through.” Curie tutted and shook her head and Mac felt his smile widen, “You want me to prove it?”

Curie’s face finally reached the tato level red he’d been looking for and Cait cackled, “Jesus, Maccready! You’re gonna give her a heart attack!”

He gave Curie a small wink, even as she hid behind her hands, “I sure hope not.” 

A loud roar of laughter came from the group that had been idly talking next to them and Cait seemed to rouse herself slightly, “Oi! Midge! Come over here and look, Benji’s wife just had her baby. Ugly little thing, but we’re all excited anyway.”

Midge looked up from whatever conversation she and Deacon had been having and smiled, pushing her rifle which had previously been in her lap on to Deacon’s. “Oh, really? And you have a picture?”

The man who had turned in his seat when Cait had hollered grinned, rifling in his jacket pocket as Midge came over, “Sure do. Anna Marie Kelser. Born three days ago, and hasn’t let me or her mother have a moment’s peace, since.”

Midge smiled warmly as she pushed up her glasses and studied the small photograph in the man’s hands. “I bet she hasn’t. Oh! Is that a birthmark?”

The man chuckled wryly, “Yeah, right smack dab in the middle of her forehead. Apparently it’s from her mother’s side.”

Midge’s smile grew, “Well, my grandma used to say birthmarks made for strong characters. I have one behind my ear so obviously she was right. Congratulations, Benji! That’s wonderful news.”

Cait raised her bottle in the air, “What the hell do you think we’re all drinkin’ for?”

The group erupted in laughter as Midge returned to her seat, turning her attention once again to her rifle. Mac watched them now, trying to pick up their conversation underneath the dull roar of conversation around him. Which was almost impossible, even though they were only a few feet away. Damn stone walls echoed. 

Midge was running her hand up and down the rifle as Deacon watched her face, brows slightly furrowed. She rubbed her shoulder a little and Deacon said something that made her roll her eyes. She was bruised probably. Wasn’t used to that much kickback, which meant it probably wasn’t her gun. Or it was brand new. Deacon opened his hand and beckoned to her, and she placed her right hand in his. He studied it for a moment and then said something else that had her throwing her head back in laughter. God, why was he making her laugh so much? Did she ever laugh that much when she was with him?

An hour or two went by before he looked back and noticed Midge was alone. Bastard has slipped out and nobody even noticed. The room was much emptier now, and Curie and Cait were both asleep on the couch. Midge had that sad, distant look again and Mac frowned. He didn’t like that face.

Mac walked gingerly over and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Hey, boss.”

She jumped slightly and looked up, “Hey, Mac. Are we getting along like good girls and boys?”

He snorted and shrugged, “Some more than others. How about you? You’re lookin’ a little mopey over here.”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize.”

Weird thing to be sorry for, but whatever. “It’s, uh...not about him, is it?” Please say no, please say no, please say no…

“Him? Oh, Deacon. Uh...no, not exactly.”

Well, she said no, but she also said “not exactly,” so hey, cheers to hope. “You...uh...wanna talk about it?”

She stared slightly bewildered at him and he watched as the corners of her mouth twitched. “Not really.”

“Oh. Okay.”

There was a small, _incredibly_ awkward pause before she spoke again. “Come with me.”

She abruptly stood and marched towards the door and Maccready followed her through the hallway and up a narrow stone stairwell, emerging on the other side into the night air. Maccready wrapped his arms tighter around himself and looked around. It was one of the points of the fort. They were standing at the edge of a large stone circle, with a big cannon looking thing in the center of it, and if that thing actually _worked,_ he was ready to give the Minutemen a big round of fucking applause. 

Midge sat down on the stone steps around the circle and sighed, a lantern illuminating her frame and shining through her hair. It almost glowed. Like fire.

Mac frowned, “Midge, aren’t you cold?”

She shrugged, “Not really.”

She had left her jacket. Now all she wore was a cream colored knit sweater and her jeans. “Nuh uh. There’s no way.”

“It’s fine. It’s nice to be cold sometimes.”

He...completely disagreed, but whatever. They sat there in a strange, slightly tense silence, while he froze his balls off, but Midge didn’t really seem to feel like talking.

Mac sighed, “I need a cigarette.”

“Smoking’s bad for you.”

“So what? Everything out here’s always trying to kill you, anyway. Might as well do whatever the fuck you want.” Midge nodded, staring out at the ocean before her face changed, and Mac realized she was holding back tears. He felt his stomach fall straight to the floor. “Are you alright?”

She nodded again, “Mhm. Fine. Peachy keen. Fuck.” She dropped her head into her hands as her shoulder shook, and Maccready felt his heart give itself a squeeze. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Mac crouched down in front of her, “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“Yes there is. I should’ve just come up here by myself instead of making you have to— I’m not crying!”

He almost laughed. “Of course not. Why on earth would I think you’re crying?”

She sniffed and looked up. Her face was blotchy and red and he could literally _see_ tears streaming down her face. Nope. Definitely not crying.

She tilted her head as she looked at him, and he decided she really did look like a kitten when she did that. “What are you doing? I told you I’m fine.”

Yeah, right. “What’s the matter, Midge?”

Her lip wobbled and she took off her glasses, holding her forehead with one hand and the other hand holding the frames and dangling off of her lap. “It’s nothing. I’ll get over it.”

Mac sighed. She was too damn stubborn for her own good. “Look at me.”

“No.”

“Come on.”

“You know me, I won’t be able to see you anyway.”

“Then I’ll come closer.” He tapped the hand that was hiding her face, “Just look at me, and then when I see that you’re obviously totally fine, we can move on.”

She sniffed and finally, begrudgingly took her hand away and looked up at him. It was...shockingly heartbreaking to see, actually. He thought she had a sort of naturally sad looking face already. Her lips were always set in a pout, and her big brown eyes tilted ever so slightly downward, so she always looked like she was giving a perfectly mastered puppy dog face. That coupled with her tear stained cheeks and watery eyes was almost too much. 

“Are you alright?”

She nodded, her eyes wide and her pupils huge in the low light. Maccready felt a small twinge of annoyance.

“Stop lying.”

She blinked, obviously startled from his sudden change in tone. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry. Just tell me what’s wrong, Miriam.”

He hadn’t really meant to say her full name there, but it just kind of slipped out. She sniffed and looked away from him. Huh. So obviously she could see him more than she wanted to.

“I’m not…I can’t—” She sighed and hung her head, her curls moving with her and hanging down like a curtain around her head. “I’m not cut out for this.”

Mac frowned, “For what?”

“This!” She said, throwing her hands in the air. Fresh tears spilled from her eyes and ran fast down her cheeks as she spoke, her voice thick with emotion. “I can’t fucking do this, Mac. I’m not some…hero, or...or anything. I’m just— God, I’m a pianist! My life was supposed to be conservatories and orchestras and pretty black dresses and...and...shit! It’s just shit!” She was properly sobbing now, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, “And everybody knows it! I’m fucking incompetent! Did you see poor Preston’s face when I told him I was on the sniper team? I’m total shit and they all know it!”

Her face fell back into her hands as the sounds of her sobs vibrated through the cold night air. She was trembling, and he didn’t know if it was because she was freezing or if she was having a proper meltdown.

Mac put a hand on her knee as he felt his chest grow tighter and tighter, “Midge, that’s just not true. I’ve seen you shoot, remember? You’re not half bad, and that’s coming from me.”

“Not half bad,” she echoed. “When I came out of the vault, I’d never shot a gun before. Never. You should’ve seen me. I was...it was a fucking miracle I made it to Diamond City. And even then, I was just...scared and naive and _stupid._ ” A particularly loud sob ripped through her and she choked, “Deacon’s the one who taught me everything and now he’s...I’m too afraid that they’re gonna find him and...I can’t lose somebody like that again, Mac! I just— I just can’t!”

She was crying so hard now she could barely talk, and Mac decided if he didn’t do something to help her not feel like _this_ he was just gonna burst into flames. Without really thinking about the implications or the repercussions or god forbid the awkward consequences of it all, he pulled her hands away from her face and towards him until she fell against him and wrapped him in a hug, her arms around his neck as she sobbed into his shoulder. The wind whipped around them and her hair flew with it, so he smoothed it down, lightly petting as one arm held tight around her waist. She was shivering violently and just the smallest touch of her wrist against the back of his neck confirmed what he already knew: she was fucking freezing up here and refused to admit it.

“Midge, I think you’re competent and smart and just as cut out for this dumbass wasteland as any of the rest of us.”

She shook her head, “I’m not. I know I’m not. You are and Deacon is and Cait is and—”

“Would you shut up? I say you are, so there.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Yeah, but I’m like, really smart. Smart as a fox some have said.”

He felt her laugh just barely against him and his heart leapt in his chest. “I can’t do unarmed combat. At all. Deacon’s tried and tried to teach me. Because he’s worried. That’s why he’s trying to teach me to be a sniper now. He won’t tell me that’s why but I know it is.”

Mac frowned. He felt kind of bad for hating the guy so much now. She was right, Deacon _was_ worried. Worried that poor Miriam with her near blindness and delicate hands and pretty face will end up dead, or something much, much worse, and that if she never gets close to the bad guys at all, maybe that could save her. Maybe he could save her.

Mac felt an invisible hand tighten and squeeze around his throat as he realized he was feeling the exact. same. thing.

Maccready steeled himself against the anxiety now clawing at his insides and focused on the girl currently _in his arms_ that just needed _someone_ goddammit. “Well, then you’re gonna be a damn good fucking sniper by the time we’re done with you.”

She sniffed, “We?”

“Yeah, _we._ You already said I’m the better shot. Incompetent my ass. I’ll _make you_ competent.”

“Promise?”

A smile spread like warm water across Mac’s face, “Promise.” They were silent for a moment, and Mac was content just to stare at her hair shining a bright orangey gold in the lantern light as his hand smoothed across it. “Your hair looks pretty.”

“Thank you.”

“Your friend Deacon’s right though. You’ve got too much of it.”

“I know, but...I’m attached to it.”

Mac thought for a second, “Well you don’t have to cut it I guess, but you should get it out of the way. Don’t know why you don’t just braid it all. It needs to be out of your face.”

“Don’t know how.”

“What do you mean you don’t know how?”

“I don’t know how to braid. Not really. And it all just wiggles it’s way out of scrunchies and elastics and stuff, so...poof it goes.”

“You don’t know how to braid your own hair?”

She giggled a little through her sniffles, “Yep. That’s what I said. Never learned all the neat girl stuff.”

“Why didn’t, like...your mom teach you or something?”

“I, uh...never really knew her. She left when I was little. Max remembered stuff about her, I didn’t. And my dad wouldn’t talk about it.”

Mac furrowed his brow, while the two sides of his brain bickered over whether to say the words already spilling out of his mouth.

“I could do it for you. If you want, I mean.”

She finally lifted her face from his shoulder and looked up at him through her sparkling eyelashes, and that look alone was enough to do him in. “You know how?”

Mac fought to keep eye contact. “Uh...yeah.”

She considered him for a moment, doing that head tilt that was quickly racing to the top of his favorite Midge facial expressions. “Okay. Can you...I mean, could you do it now? Before we go to bed and all?”

The corners of his mouth twitched up. “You mean get back into the warm building a few feet away instead of sitting here and watching you freeze to death? Absolutely.”

She laughed and he rose to his feet, holding both of her frigid hands as she got up. She put her glasses on and they both headed down the staircase, Mac feeling a sudden warmth that had nothing to do with being inside the shuttered walls of the Castle and had everything to do with Midge’s arms wrapped around his and her cheek resting against his bicep. They reached the rec room they’d been in previously and Mac gingerly opened the door as they both poked their heads in the now dark chamber. Curie and Cait were still curled around each other on the couch, lightly snoring into the empty space. Midge tugged him over to one of the bunks in the corner, yanking the chain on a small lamp until a small pool of yellow light illuminated her face as she stared up at him expectantly.

Mac chuckled and tried to keep his voice as low as possible. “Sit down. On the floor.”

Midge grinned brightly, which was almost funny with her still bloodshot eyes, and plopped herself down on the floor. Mac sat on the bottom bunk and put his legs on either side of her, before lightly finger combing her hair. 

“Jesus, Midge. You ever taken a brush to this monster?”

She whispered back, “You don’t _brush_ curly hair.”

“Obviously not.” He tried to get the tangles out as gently as he could, marveling at the small, perfect ringlets hidden in the frizz. The curls were tinier than his little finger. Perfect little tight spirals. “It’s pretty though.”

“I’m glad you think so. I’m not tender headed, you know, so you can pull on it as much as you want.”

Mac swallowed the quip that was currently _begging_ to be said with considerable effort and focused on her hair. It was gonna look really pretty in a french braid. Might actually stay put, too.

They were silent for a while, Mac working through her impossibly soft hair as Midge hummed quietly, her fingers tapping out a rhythm on her knee. Which is why he jumped a little when she did speak, hushed and just barely audible.

“Hey Mac?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For...everything.”

He smiled. “No problem, Midge.”


	5. A Big Heart And A Backwards Pawn.

Midge woke him up that morning with a bright smile, her face completely devoid of the pitiful sadness he’d seen the night before. He’d almost immediately regretted that braid, because now, without the bushy curls hiding her face, he was forced to recognize how pretty she actually was. How her smile seemed to light up those dark, dark brown eyes, and her nose wrinkled when she laughed. The freckles that were sprinkled across her face like stars. It was...a lot.

Then they packed up and left the Castle, saying quick goodbyes as they walked through the courtyard. Midge was looking around again, craning her neck and searching the courtyard, but no swaggering idiots in sunglasses appeared this time. She finally gave up and whistled sharply when they reached the big castle doors, and Dogmeat bolted from within the walls and joined them.

So they trudged through the sand towards Goodneighbor. The whole Quincy operation was in five days, and Midge said she was feeling “thoroughly cream crackered.” Whatever the fuck that meant. They had been walking for a while, finally reaching the city when Midge started doing a strange little happy dance.

“Wow, this is so much better! The wind’s blowing and there’s no hair in my face! Isn’t that nice.”

Mac smiled as she waved her head from side to side, her braid swinging along with her. Mac still thought it was way too long, past her shoulder blades and all too easy to grab onto, but if she wasn’t going to cut it, it was probably the next best thing.

“I still can’t believe you don’t know how to braid. What kinda girl can’t braid her own hair?”

She huffed, “I told you, my mom didn’t stick around to teach me all the cool girl stuff. My friend Susie taught me everything I knew about makeup and hosiery and things like that, and we were about...maybe, nineteen? So it was kind of just...the blind leading the blind.”

Mac snorted, “Late bloomer, huh?”

Midge planted her hands on her hips and turned to face him as they walked, and Mac had to fight the urge to roughly spin her the right way again, “So what? I didn’t have time to focus on...all that other stuff. I was _busy._ ”

“You were _busy?_ You can say socially awkward, you know. I’m not judging. Except I totally am.”

“I am not! I mean— I _was_ not. It’s just that...my dad wanted me to stay focused. Piano was my whole life. Well, I mean, he let me do chess club sometimes but—”

“Right! Right, you said you were a...um, a uh…whatcha call it—”

“Pianist.”

“Yeah! Pianist, meaning you play the piano. That makes sense.”

She frowned, “You just put that together? You could’ve _asked,_ you know.”

“Well I was _gonna_ but— Look, cut me some slack, okay? I’ve only seen like two pianos in my whole life. You’re probably the first person I’ve ever met who could really play one, too. But, whatever. And to think, I was gonna give you a compliment.”

She gasped and folded her hands behind her back, “You were?”

“Yeah, genius, I was. Now would you turn around before you break your neck?”

Midge rolled her eyes and spun around, finally facing the road ahead. Mac sighed and watched Dogmeat’s ears twitch. This way and that, cataloging every tiny sound around them. He wondered what it would be like to hear like a dog. Probably fucking annoying. Could hear a bird shit a mile away, and wouldn’t that be distracting. Dogmeat was probably used to it, though. He seemed like that kinda guy.

“So, let’s say, theoretically, you decided you _were_ gonna give me that compliment. What exactly—”

“Nope. Don’t even try.” Her laugh turned into a small wince and he frowned. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, but that only exacerbated the look of pain on her face. “Nothing, it’s just...I’ve kinda been nursing a headache all morning and it just got a _lot_ worse. Which is kinda weird. That usually only happens when it—”

A loud crackling erupted in the sky above them and they both looked up. Sickly green clouds were slowly rolling in from the south, acidic green lightning flashing down menacingly from the heavens. Fucking radstorm. Dogmeat whined as they looked at each other, again seeming to sense incoming danger.

“Oh, _fuck_ a duck. Radstorms are such a shitty, inconvenient weather system, don’t you think?”

He was already scanning up and down the city streets, looking for any cover whatsoever, “Yeah, yeah, Midge, we need to—”

“Oh! This way, there’s a subway station at the end of this street!”

Mac’s stomach tightened when he heard “subway station,” but Midge was already running full speed down the street. He ran after her, forcefully stifling a very funny feeling as Midge stopped and turned at the entrance to make sure he was right behind her, and they both ducked in. Mac immediately felt his anxiety level rise.

The one fluorescent light that was still shining flickered from it’s spot on the floor, illuminating the cold, dark, wet chamber as the sound of condensation dripping on the tile floors echoed in the air around them. Mac shivered a little as he clicked his safety off and crept uneasily towards the stairs. He didn’t really want to go further in, but there were too many doors and closets and hallways in this room and not enough light. 

He crept down the stairs, Midge beside him and gripping that tiny pistol he hadn’t seen her use so far in surprisingly steady hands. He stepped in front of her and peered around the corner, Dogmeat poking his head around Mac’s knee. Empty. Or at least, the subway cars _looked_ empty. Odds are they definitely weren’t.

“Ferals, probably.”

Mac clenched his jaw and willed back the shiver from the sensation of her breath on his neck. That and her feather light hand gripping his shoulder.

Mac nodded. “Yeah, probably.”

He watched as she ducked ahead of him and crept down the stairs, her steps impressively silent. Dogmeat stayed at his knee, not growling, but obviously on high alert until Midge looked back up at them.

Dogmeat padded over, his long belly fur almost touching the ground as he sniffed through the subway cars. Mac and Midge followed, the creaking metal and the echoey chamber doing nothing for his steadily fraying nerves. His mouth was starting to feel dry and his palms were sweating. Stupid. It was just a subway tunnel. It wasn’t the same.

They reached the last car and Mac jumped as Midge slid the metal door closed. “There. We can wait it out here.”

“Here?!” Mac said, “The end of this car’s shredded, boss. It’s not like we’re shut in.”

“Oh, relax. The tunnels caved in and the cars are empty.”

He looked towards the rubble under the stone archway. “There’s gaps in that rubble Miriam! And you never know if places like these are actually empty.”

A small furrow appeared between her brows and she frowned at him, “What’s got your goat? You don’t like small spaces or something?”

Fuck, it was hot in here. He’d thought it was cold when they first came in. And why on earth couldn’t he _swallow?_ “Something like that.”

“Well, we shouldn’t be down here too long if it makes you feel any—”

Dogmeat barked and both of them tensed. Mac strained his ears and picked up a quiet, mucusy, _disgusting_ growling from farther down in the tunnel, and he felt his stomach turn to lead and drop to the floor. 

Fucking ferals.

He watched as disgusting, rotting feral bodies crawled and flopped over the rubble, landing heavily on the tracks and starting a dead sprint towards the subway car. Time seemed to slow, like he was on fucking jet or something, except instead of feeling relaxed and warm, every muscle in his body seemed to wrap around his lungs and squeeze until they were empty. 

Midge moved against the wall, _way_ too slow, and Dogmeat charged forward, taking down the feral closest to the car. Maccready finally forced himself to move and angled his shot, trying to force his lungs to allow air inside of them. Midge landed a shot to the shoulder on one of them, to the stomach on another, but they were coming too fast. Way too fast. Time was speeding up now, like he hit fast forward on the holotape of his life. He released his breath and squeezed the trigger, one, two, three, four, five times, and watched each of the ferals crumple to the ground. He didn’t take any pride in it though. It was like he hadn’t even done it. Like somebody else had taken control of his hands. 

Midge let out a loud breath and planted a fist on her hip. “Damn. I hate to stroke your ego, Mac, but _wowza_. That really was…” She turned and her face fell. “Mac, are you okay?”

He wanted to say yes, he was _fine,_ but he couldn’t seem to get his mouth to move. Or the rest of his body for that matter. He was still standing stiff as a board, his rifle raised and pointed at nothing. And he was sweating? Why was he sweating?

“Let’s put the gun down, yeah?”

Midge reached and touched his arm and he flinched away, lowering his rifle and pressing himself against the opposite wall. There wasn’t enough air in here. It was too small and soon they were both going to suffocate and then what? He slid down to the floor, rifle in his lap and his pulse thundering in his ears as Dogmeat approached and licked his hand, whining and giving him a look that reminded him an awful lot of...Midge.

He looked up, eyes stinging to see Midge sitting on one of the plastic seats across the wall, staring down at him with the exact same worried puppy dog face.

“Is it the ferals or...claustrophobia?”

“Both,” he croaked out.

“Oh.” She just sat there for a second, her hand folded between her knees, before she tilted her head and spoke again, “I have...these kinds of things a lot. I panic.”

Mac nodded. He was too afraid to speak at the moment. He was pretty sure if he even tried explaining any of this he’d just fall apart.

“Can I come closer?”

Mac just stared at her. Her voice sounded so sweet. Cajoling, even. Much better than listening to the sound of his own panting. Something deep in his chest reached out to her and he nodded.

She slid gracefully out of her seat and sat down next to him, shoulder to shoulder as she ever so slightly pressed against him. He suddenly noticed that Dogmeat was on the other side, his big furry blockhead in his lap. Mac realized he really loved the fluffy mutt.

“Um...Well, I was gonna tell you that I usually play a little color game, to uh, to calm myself down...but everything in here is fucking grey, so…”

Mac laughed. Well, sort of a laugh. It was more of a pained exhale, but it was close. Midge tapped the toes of her sneakers together idly. Her legs were long, he noticed. He was almost half a foot taller than she was, but her feet were right at his ankles.

“Do you want to hear a story? It’s a funny one. I think you’ll get a kick out of it.”

Mac gave her a half smile and nodded. The air was starting to get cooler. He didn’t feel quite as feverish, anyway. He still felt like his lungs couldn't possibly take in enough air, though. Still panting like he'd run a mile to get here.

“Okay, so it’s about my first ever crush. Earl Flowers.” Mac raised an eyebrow and she smiled, “Hey! Don’t judge. He was first table in my chess club and he was dreamy. He had this real dark curly hair and these big blue eyes. I’ve always been a sucker for—” She cleared her throat and shook her head, “Anyway, I had the biggest crush on him for the longest time, right? And when I was sixteen, I finally beat him out for first table. That’s a big deal. Because Earl was two years older, and I was the only girl in the chess club, so it was pretty fucking cool of me, you know?”

Mac let out a shaky, breathless laugh, “Bet Earl took that well.” Did his voice sound normal? No. But hey, at least he wasn't on the brink of tears.

She grabbed his arm and grinned, “He _did_ actually! That’s where the story gets so interesting! So, I’m first table now, alright? This was after a crushing victory against Earl, and after our meeting that day he comes up to me. Me. Midge Gallagher. Just picture it, braces, dorkier glasses than this, bobby socks and khaki pants, the whole nine yards. And he asks me if I wanna get a cola after school."

“Oh, boy.”

“Oh boy indeed! So we walk out of school together and of course Earl has his own car, and he drives me to the soda shop a few blocks from my house, right? We get there, we have a great time, he laughs at my jokes, I’m laughing at _his_ jokes, and then he takes me home. Now, we’re on the stoop—”

“I thought you said this story was gonna be funny? This sounds like some gross girls story to me.”

“Would you shut up? This is where it gets funny. As I was saying, Earl walks me to my stoop, right? And he’s lingering, and I’ve watched the movies Mac. I know how this goes. So he starts to lean, and my sixteen year old self is freaking out. I’m thinking that I’m finally gonna be kissed, it’s all happening for me etcetera, etcetera, and then...Earl says, “Are you bleeding?””

Maccready snorted, “Oh, _no._ ”

“Oh, _yes._ Full nosebleed. Right as Earl Flowers was gonna plant one on me. So, I apologize profusely, run inside and slam the door in his face.”

Mac was actually laughing now, “Midge, of all the things you could have possibly done in that moment—”

“Oh, I know. _Trust me,_ I know. I cried into my pillow the whole night.”

Mac frowned. This didn’t seem like a funny story. Made him a little...angry, truth be told. Or...something unpleasant. He wasn’t sure. Although, whatever he was feeling now was preferable to the icy panic from before.

“But! There’s a happy ending! So, I avoid Earl at school for a week, which is pretty hard, because we’re both in chess club and we’re both in jazz band, and he played the trombone, by the way, and then finally, the Friday after our date, he corners me before I can run out of the building. He says all these nice things and he tells me not to be embarrassed and yada yada yada, and he drives me home again, which is really sweet. Plus, his car was really nice. Rich family, you know. We never went on another date after that, but he actually became one of my best friends. All through college, too. He was the only one who really cared when...uh…Well, it doesn’t matter. Oh! And he actually was my first kiss! Sorta.”

Mac chuckled and scratched behind Dogmeat’s furry ears. “Lucky Earl.”

Midge scoffed, “Yeah, right. Lucky me, more like.” She suddenly grabbed his wrist and squeezed slightly with two fingers. “It worked! God, I’m so smart. I’m getting a nice, normal pulse here.”

He wrenched his hand away and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. Kudos to your distraction skills, motormouth.”

She grinned, “That’s me! Motormouth Midge. Oh! I like that. Anyway, now we’ve both had a meltdown in front of each other, so we’re even.”

Mac frowned, “I did not have a _meltdown_ —”

She bounced onto her feet, “Of course not! And I didn’t cry, so there. I’m gonna go check on the storm. Keep him locked down, will ya Dogmeat?”

She bounced out of the subway car and Dogmeat sighed, licking his chops and staring soulfully at Mac’s face. Maccready smiled and pet the dog's fluffy head.

“I know, Dogmeat. Trust me, I know.”

~

The rest of the way to Goodneighbor was thoroughly uneventful, and Midge was kind enough to go right back to normal. She just jabbered away like he’d never almost cried in some stupid subway tunnel at all.

Daisy waved the both of them down as they came through the gate, and Mac’s heart gave a little jump. It had been two weeks since the last letter, which meant another one should be waiting for him. Which was a good thing. It had to be a good thing.

Dogmeat went into a wiggling frenzy, running up to Daisy’s counter and sitting expectantly at her feet. She laughed warmly and put her hands on her knees, “You want my leftover radchicken scraps, don’t you, you mangy mutt?” Dogmeat barked and Daisy laughed again, emptying a small dish into a plastic bowl on the floor. “As for you, Midge, my guy from the Capital just came in, and I’ve got a whole damn box of barrettes for you to look at. I mean, none of ‘em match, but—”

Midge squealed and took the small cardboard box from her hands, “Oh, _wow,_ Daisy! Thanks a million.”

Daisy smiled and flitted her dark eyes over Maccready. “You look skinny, Bobby. You takin’ care of yourself?”

Mac smiled and waved his hand, “Who me? Of course. You...uh...have you got anything for me?”

Shit. He still hadn’t really figured out the right way to ask. Daisy didn’t seem to mind though, she just smiled softly and pulled out a yellowish envelope from underneath the counter. Midge just barely glanced up.

“You’ve got family back somewhere?”

Mac took the envelope and shot Daisy a grateful look, “Uh...yeah. Yeah, kinda.”

She held some sparkly hair clip up to the small lightbulb hanging over Daisy’s counter, “You said you were from the, uh...Capital Wasteland, right?”

He stuffed the envelope in his jacket. Thankfully, Midge was distracted by her box of baubles or whatever and wasn’t really paying much attention to him. Daisy was though. Made him feel uncomfortably hot. “Yeah.”

“That’s Washington isn’t it? Or it used to be anyway.”

“Uh huh.”

She finally turned to him and looked him up and down, “Oh, what am I thinking. You’re probably bored out of your mind, huh?” She fished in her pocket and handed him her key, “You can go up to the apartment. I’ve got a killer comic book collection I think you’ll be very interested in.”

She wasn’t looking at him again, just had the key on a little ring between two fingers. He took it and said his goodbye’s to Daisy, who was giving him a look that made him feel way too warm again, and trudged across town to the Memory Den. He looked up at Hancock’s balcony and laughingly wondered if he’d been replaced yet. Maybe not. He’d always said it’d been a while since he’d found such a...what did he call it… _ready and willing playmate._ Which he supposed was pretty accurate. It had always seemed like a weird kind of sexual tag team.

The Memory Den was weirdly quiet and stagnant as always. Little technological beeps filled the dusty air as Irma sat in her usual position, a paperback in her hands and her ankles crossed. 

“Hey Irma.”

“Hey kid. You holdin’ up okay?”

“Just fine.”

Irma hummed in approval, her eyes never leaving the book in front of her. Any other time it would’ve bothered him, but the letter tucked into his jacket seemed to be burning a hole there. 

Midge’s little apartment was as cluttered and bright as ever, and he barely closed the door and tossed the key on her kitchen counter before he dropped his things and tore open the envelope, sitting in the yellow armchair on the opposite side of the apartment. The letter was short. Just the one page.

_Mac,_

_Better couple of weeks. He wasn’t in bed for all of it, at least. Even asked for mac and cheese a few times. I almost sang a damn song the first time he asked me. Went outside a little, but he got tired pretty fast. A lot of drawing. He's really excited about writing his own name. He's really proud of the drawing I sent. Kept talking about how it would remind you of the house. The fever was lower, and he could walk around and play more before we had to lay him back down. Better. He's doing better. But we know what happens after the good weeks._

_Penny still isn’t back. Nobody’s seen her. I’m thinking about going to that farmer’s place and asking if she ever made it. It’s the last place she said she was going. Not sure what else to do. Worried about Talon Company. Or slavers. Or both. Honestly, there’s not much difference._

_He’s doing okay. He misses you._

_\- Joseph_

Mac suddenly realized there were tears in his eyes and tried to blink them away, but they fell anyway, staining the paper in his hands. It was useless anyway. He knew the second page was going to do him in. He shuffled the pages in trembling hands and stared at Duncan’s clumsy crayon drawing. A house and flowers and a brahmin and some other unidentifiable shapes with his name signed on the bottom. It was wonky, the N’s could barely be called such and Joseph probably sat there for five minutes to help him through it, but it made him smile so wide it hurt his cheeks. His baby had Lucy’s brains. Thank god.

He heard steps coming up the stairs and rushed to stuff the papers back in the envelope and into his jacket. He scrubbed at his eyes just before Midge came bumbling through the door.

“Hiya Mac! I couldn’t decide between all the little clips and barrettes and things so I just bought the box. Pretty good deal, too. Daisy’s a peach. Gave me the whole thing for thirty five caps.” 

Mac just nodded, not trusting his own voice not to betray him. Although the little head tilt Midge gave him made him feel like she knew what she walked into anyway. Somehow. She placed the little cardboard box on a shelf over her bed before pulling out a large basket from underneath it. “I’m gonna take a quick shower before I start smelling like a zoo. Or...more like a zoo. I don’t smell great is what I’m trying to say.”

Mac let out a strangled laugh and cursed to himself. He sounded pitiful to his own ears. Midge didn’t seem to notice though, she just pulled something from the basket and the dresser at the foot of her bed and dashed off with a small smile. Leaving him by himself again.

Mac sighed and leaned back against the chair. _He misses you_ , Joseph had said. He’d been gone for almost nine months. He remembered leaving hoping he wouldn’t have to miss a birthday. That deadline was rapidly approaching. At the same time, he was happy Duncan remembered him enough to miss him. Nine months to a two year old was...forever. Forever and ever.

Mac heard the shower turn on and took off his hat, raking a hand through his hair. Maybe this job would help. Sure, he needed the caps to hire somebody, but more than that, it had to be somebody he trusted. Last time he tried getting into Med-tek by himself he almost died. That couldn’t happen. He wasn’t about to make an orphan out of his baby because his stupid ass froze in a basement full of ferals. 

Maybe he could find somebody like that with the Minutemen. Somebody he could hire that....you know, wouldn’t shoot him in the back the minute he had a stupid meltdown over a couple of ghouls.

Like Midge didn’t.

But that was a nonstarter. He wasn’t gonna put poor Midge in a darkened basement with a bunch of feral ghouls. There was no way. Hell, _she_ had hired _him_ to keep her safe. Well, actually, she’d hired him to help out with her Minutemen crusade, but that was kind of secondary. He was her extra gun, currently. Pulling her into Med-tek with her being basically blind and skinny as a rail and, in her own words, useless in hand-to-hand combat was...well, it felt irresponsible really. Putting someone in danger unnecessarily. 

He heard the water turn off and shook his head. One thing at a time. Finish the Quincy job, and then he could make a move from there. He was _so_ close. So, so close.

He just missed his baby.

He tucked the letter into the bottom of his pack with the others and pushed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He wondered how Duncan’s face had changed. When he left he’d still looked like a baby. He was definitely talking more too. Had to be by now. It was mostly one word sentences when he left. Now he was a proper toddler who was writing his name on pictures and asking for mac and cheese...and missed his dad.

“Are you alright?”

Mac jumped and looked up. Midge was standing there, eyes wide as she was frozen in place, holding a towel to her wet hair and frowning down at him.

“Uh...yeah. Yeah, no, I’m fine.”

“Okay.” She continued running the towel through her hair, still frowning. “You can say no and I’ll still leave you alone, you know.”

Mac shook his head, “Nah, I’m...it’s fine.”

“Hm. You seem to say that a lot.”

She didn’t seem to need a response. She didn’t really even seem to be talking to him, just mumbling to herself as she ambled to the other side of the room and sat on her bed. She was in a large purple sweater that came to the middle of her thighs and black tights, and without all the layers he was forced to recognize how little she really was. The sweater had been scrunched above her elbows, and he realized it wasn’t just her hands that seemed frail and delicate, it was all of her. If the wind blew too hard it could probably blow her over. That wasn’t the physique of a fighter. It just wasn’t. That thought had unexplainable anxiety clawing at the inside of his chest.

She piled her hair on top of her hair and hissed, wincing a little as she took a large claw shaped clip and held it in place. Mac frowned, “What’s the matter?”

Midge looked up at him from across the room, “If I said it was fine, would that be a joke made in bad taste?”

Mac folded his arms, “Maybe.”

She smiled a little and shook her head, “It’s that stupid rifle. It’s...a lot for me. My shoulder’s black and blue.”

Mac stood and walked over to her position on the bed, “Lemme see.”

She gave him a questioning look but stood up slowly anyway, pulling the neck of her sweater down slightly across her right shoulder, exposing purple flesh across her collarbone. Mac hissed and pulled it down further, frowning as he stared at the purple and yellow splotches painted across her shoulder. “Jesus, Midge.”

“Um...Yeah, I know. I’m...I, uh, don’t really know how to fix it.”

She cleared her throat and he looked up to find she was averting her eyes, her cheeks just a little pink. Then he realized this was probably the first skin-to-skin contact they’d had. But it was perfectly innocent, right? Probably...kind of intimate for the both of them, but...whatever. It’s not like they were...this wasn’t...how did this become so weird all of the sudden?

“Well, problem number one is you have like, no muscle here at all.” He pressed a thumb down gently on the flesh of her shoulder and she sucked in a breath through her teeth.

“Ow! Hey, I know, tough guy. You don’t have to prove it.”

Mac chuckled a little, “Sorry. Your other problem is you’ve got the stock in the wrong place. It’s up against your collarbone. I can see it. That’s where the dark purple is.”

“Well...how am I supposed to hold it?”

He released her and turned away, grabbing his own rifle from where he’d dropped it by the arm chair. “What, _Deacon_ didn’t teach you that part?”

“I, uh...may not be the easiest student to work with.”

Mac snorted, “I don’t doubt it.” He handed her the rifle and pointed to the window. “Show me.” Midge checked the safety and pointed it out the window, making small adjustments to her stance as she stared into the scope. Mac frowned and adjusted her shoulders. “Yeah. Exactly. It should kind of tuck into closer to your armpit. I’m surprised you haven’t broken your f— freaking collarbone.”

“Okay. That feels weird.”

“Does it feel better than the butt of a rifle slamming into your collarbone?”

She let out a small laugh, “Fair enough.”

Mac frowned, “It’s just...you’re really skinny, Midge.”

“I know.”

“Like...too skinny.”

She sighed and lowered his rifle. “Yeah, I...I’ve been told.”

“I mean, it’s probably gonna keep bruising you until you build up some muscle in your shoulder.”

She grinned and handed back his rifle, “Guess it’s time for some pull ups then, huh?”

Mac laughed and set his rifle against the wall. “Not with your shoulder looking like that. You need to stim that or something.” 

She plopped graceful onto the corner of the couch and tucked her feet underneath herself, “Eh. It’ll be fine for now.”

“No, really, boss. It’s just gonna slow you down. You really should—”

Midge groaned, “Alright, alright, bossypants. I’ll stick a needle in my shoulder if it makes you feel better, okay?”

Mac grumbled as he sat down in the armchair again, “It’s for _you_ to feel better, but whatever.”

Midge smiled at him for a moment, giving him a strange look that made him feel like a fidgety little boy until she clapped her hands together and thankfully diverted her attention. “You wanna watch a movie? I’ve got one that I think you’ll like. Dusty old holotape I found who knows where, but it’s got some sort of monster in it, I know that.”

Mac smiled as she padded over to her bookshelf, a small strangled feeling taking control of his chest as his eyes slid over her, long and lithe in her pretty purple sweater and her damp curls bunched at the top of her head. She was just pretty. Pretty in a dangerous way. Pretty in a way that made her vulnerable. An easy, fragile target. He had met girls like that before. Young, pretty and delicate. Kids used to call them “slaver bait.”

Midge turned around with the plastic orange disk in her hand and frowned. “What?”

Mac looked up and shook his head. “Nothing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *me pouring copious amounts of unsaid feelings into this chapter,* COME GET Y'ALL JUICE!


	6. Nobody Likes A Tattletale.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody Likes A Tattletale, And They Really Don't Like A Loose Lipped Mayor.

They spent the evening like that, in a comfortable silence as they watched a very strange movie about a pile of goo terrorizing a typical prewar american town. About fifteen minutes in there was scratching at the door, and Midge let Dogmeat in, after saying he must be done “making the rounds.” Then he promptly fell asleep on Mac’s feet.

“Huh. Daisy was right. You are one of the good ones.”

Mac looked up from the credits currently speeding across the television screen, “Huh?”

“I just trust Dogmeat’s judgement, is all. I’m kinda jealous. He’s spent the whole movie over there cuddling with you.”

Mac narrowed his eyes, “You talked to Daisy about me?”

Midge fidgeted a little in her seat, “More like...she talked to me about you. I don’t know if you’ve gotten the papers in the mail yet, but I’m one hundred percent sure she’s adopted you. She’s a real sweetheart, don’t you think? I’ve always thought so. A real stand up kinda lady.”

Mac just stared at her, a slow smug smile spreading across his face as he took in her barely there blush and the way she seemed bound and determined to keep her eyes trained on the television. “Oh, really? So what did you ask her?”

“I didn’t—” She finally looked at him, but the moment she met his eyes she flushed bright pink and stood up, “I’m hungry.”

She crossed hurriedly to the other side of the room and Mac found himself staring as her hips swayed in that little sweater. “Now, hold on a second—”

“I’m thinking vegetable soup. Yep. That’s what I’m thinking.”

“So, what was so important you had to ask Daisy but didn’t wanna ask me, huh?”

Midge scoffed and planted her hands on her hips, her damp ringlets swaying with her as she turned to face him. “For the last time, I didn’t...she brought it up!”

She bent over to fish in one of the bottom cabinets and...yeah, he was very aware of the fact that he was staring at her ass. But whatever, she had a cute one. “I’m sure she did. And what exactly did you talk about?”

She put a small pot on her hotplate and switched it on, “Well, you know...you have a bit of a...reputation, I suppose. Now, where did I put my—”

Mac stood and ambled over to the makeshift kitchen, “Oh, yeah? Reputation for what?”

“Well…” Midge looked up and immediately back down again, obviously unsure what to do with the sudden closeness. “Being a little bit of a tomcat.”

Maccready laughed, “A _what?_ ”

Midge shook her head, her face growing pinker by the second as she grabbed a couple of carrots from a small basket on the counter, “Would you stop it? You know what I mean. You...like girls. A lot.”

He smirked, “Or they like me.”

Midge pulled out a small paring knife from a drawer and held it out, “You think you’re real funny, huh?”

Mac laughed and held up his hands, “Are you pulling knives on me now?”

“No, I... _knife,_ singular, first of all.” She slammed it down on the counter and moved away from him, reaching up on her tiptoes and searching through a cabinet.

She was still trying to hide her face, obviously knowing that she was glowing bright red. Which was...interesting. No reason to be so embarrassed if her little conversation with Daisy was as innocent as she was intent on making it seem. And the implications of that were even _more_ interesting.

So, yeah. He may have then...pushed a little bit.

“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”

She immediately choked and dropped the can she had been holding, “You...I...what?!”

Mac smirked and decided that she wasn’t just cute. This was downright _adorable._ “You heard me.”

“You’re...I don’t even…” She tutted and shook her head, “Ha ha, very funny, Mac.”

Mac leaned down and propped his elbow up on the counter, “Not tryna be funny, sweetheart.”

“I...Oh, sure you aren’t.” She shoved him away, pushing on his shoulders and herding him towards the door to her terrace, “Go outside. You’re crowding me. Making jokes and...whatever.” She shoved him out the door and Dogmeat barked happily as he wormed his way outside as well. Midge huffed, “You too, huh? Traitor.”

She slammed the door closed and Mac chuckled. Run and hide. That seemed to be Midge’s signature. Made him want to grab her before she could run next time.

The smug smile vanished from his face as he realized what he was actually thinking. It wasn’t that it wouldn’t be fun to chip through her wall of obliviousness, it was the fact that...it would be way too much fun. He liked her. A lot, actually. He liked her weird, rapid fire sense of humor. He liked her cartoonish expressions and those big brown eyes that perfectly mirrored a moping puppy dog. Seems kind of stupid now that he thought he was _annoyed_ by all the talking when they first met. Whatever he was feeling...it certainly wasn’t annoyed.

Well, okay, yeah. She could be kind of obnoxious. But hey, so could he. Hell, if he had to list his core traits on a piece of paper, _obnoxious_ would definitely be one of them. But somehow, obnoxious on her was just...charming. Weirdly charming. They were friends. Boom. There. Or they were pretty close to that, anyway. It had been a while since he had someone like that. Hancock had been pretty close, he guessed. Except that relationship had been almost completely dominated by sex.

Mac sighed and lit a cigarette. That could _not_ happen here. Sure, he’d had the odd distant thought of what she had hiding underneath all those layers she usually wore. And boy, did the little sweater get up she had on now exacerbate those thoughts, but who could blame him? She was a beautiful girl. Legs that went on forever and an ass that would _not_ quit. Now if he could just get his hands under that sweater and those tights down to her knees he could—

He could _nothing._ Because he wasn’t about to ruin a solid friendship that...as much as he hated to admit to himself...made him feel less alone out here. If she even felt the same way. Which, now that he thought about it, how could she? He’d hoarded any and all information about his life so far. Everything except the broadest of details about Lamplight. He’d been learning about her, slowly. Piece by piece. Although, really, they didn’t know all that much about each other. That should change, right? If he was going to tell himself that they were friends, and _that_ was the reason that nothing could happen between them.

He could be just friends with a ridiculously pretty girl. Sure. Of course he could. Except that ridiculously pretty girl had asked about him. Asked about him and _girls_ no less. Which was adorably naive of her, he thought. He wouldn’t do Magnolia the disservice of calling her a _girl._ Or that caravan girl that Hancock had introduced him to. Or Hancock himself, for that matter. Oh, the things that she didn’t know. And...now that he thought about it, probably should continue to not know. 

The door behind him opened and he turned, seeing Midge with her nose wrinkled in response to the cigarette smoke. “Soup’s on, dummy. Put that out before you come inside.”

Mac chuckled and snuffed out his cigarette on the railing, “Yes ma’am.”

Midge hid a small smile and retreated back into the apartment. Dogmeat didn’t follow, but nosed at Mac’s hand instead, his tongue lolling to the side as he happily stared up at him. Mac scratched behind his ears and smiled.

“Dinnertime, pal. Go be nice to your mom before she starts thinking you’re picking favorites.”

Dogmeat barked and barreled through the door as Mac turned the knob, sitting obediently at Midge’s feet as she ladeled soup into two bowls. Mac chuckled. Spoiled brat.

~

Mac was back in the metro tunnel, the air around him so thick it might as well have been a liquid. His face was tickled by raven hair almost shining blue in the low light. Lucy. His Lucy. But she felt all wrong. There was no warmth radiating from her body. She wasn’t soft and warm and fast asleep in his arms. He slowly, gingerly turned her over and immediately flung himself away. It wasn’t Lucy. It was just a skeleton, skin all but rotted away and empty eye sockets peering deep into his own. Horrifying and soul-crushing.

He was screaming, had been screaming, but no sound escaped him. He couldn’t seem to force a noise out of his throat. His whole body vibrated in fear. He felt like a bag of marbles being mercilessly shaken. Then there was growling, the sound of putrid flesh slapping together and scraping against rubble and his vision tunneled, blackness closing around him until he was blind. He couldn’t see. Just heard ripping and screaming and growling and then _his name_. Shrieked out by the woman he loved and couldn’t help. Duncan was crying, sobbing and screaming so hard Mac was afraid he was going to hurt his own throat. Suddenly his vision returned and it was just Duncan, swaddled in his duck patterned blanket and wailing in his arms. He needed his mother. Not him. He wasn’t good enough. How was he ever supposed to be good enough?

The growling was back, growing louder as his vision closed in around him once again. He just held his screaming baby to his chest, yelling at the blackness that they couldn’t have him. They could never have him. They’d have to put him in the fucking ground before they ever put a finger on Duncan.

And then suddenly, hazel eyes were staring into his, wide and filled with tears. He was sorry. He was so, so sorry.

Mac shot up from the couch, panting in the chilly air of Midge’s apartment. A dream. A bad dream. That’s all it was. He wanted to say that it wasn’t real, that there was no way it could possibly be real. But that was that gag, wasn’t it? His brain didn’t even have to manufacture nightmares. He made them himself.

He let his head drop into his hands and felt the sweat that was soaking into his hairline. His whole body was soaked in it, actually. The tee shirt he had stripped down to was sticking to his skin.

“Bad dreams, huh?”

Mac jumped and looked up, squinting and just barely making out Miriam in her purple sweater standing over the kitchen counter. Mac struggled to get his brain working and back to the present, instead of that dark, disgusting metro tunnel as she stared blankly down at her hands folded on top of the counter. When he didn’t answer, she turned and took in the pitiful picture he probably made.

“Sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”

“No, you’re not—” He took a shaky breath and ran a hand through his hair, “Sorry I woke you.”

“You didn’t,” she said. “I was already awake.”

Mac dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. Trying to will away the images still swimming behind his eyelids. There was a sudden weight beside him on the couch, but he didn’t look up.

“You get them a lot?” He slowly looked up, his chest giving a squeeze as he took in Midge, studying his face with genuine concern. “There’s no point trying to lie, by the way. I’ve had the best in the biz try to lie to me about his nightmares and he didn’t fool me either.”

Mac forced himself to look away from her face, “Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Midge hummed a little in acknowledgement and held something warm to his hand. A mug. He took it and she sighed, “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“Tea. It’ll help you sleep. Pinky promise.”

“Oh. There’s nothing... _in it..._ is there?”

Midge looked up into his eyes and smiled, “No, Mac. I’m not trying to drug you.”

“No, that’s not what I—”

“I don’t mess with chems. Of any kind. Ever.”

“Oh.” She definitely picked the wrong town to live in, then. “Okay. Thanks.”

She shrugged and blew on her own mug, “Don’t mention it.”

Her hands were shaking, just barely, and Mac stared down at his own, wrapped around the steaming mug. “Did...sometimes...What did I—”

“Nothing much. A lot of mumbling. You yelled out a few times.” Shit. How did she somehow know exactly what he was going to ask her. She was silent for a moment, and Dogmeat padded over from his place on her bed, placing his heavy head on Mac’s knee. 

“Who’s Lucy?”

Mac screwed his eyes shut and tried to will the tears away. No. He was _not_ crying after she’d already heard him calling out for his dead wife, for god’s sake. But, there was really no point in trying to lie now. He honestly didn't even have the energy. 

“She, uh...she was my wife.”

She nodded, silently staring forward. It felt like mercy. “That has something to do with...the ferals. Doesn’t it?” He nodded, and she let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry, Maccready.”

He just shook his head, not trusting his voice at the moment. They sat like that in silence, Midge occasionally sipping from her mug, and Maccready simply holding it there in his hands. Then, as gentle as a person could possibly be, her feather light hand reached out and wrapped around his arm.

“My husband...was murdered. In front of me. I just...I don't know. I understand, I guess is what I'm trying to...yeah.”

He looked up at her and was shocked to find her eyes were glassy, tears threatening to spill over. She blinked and a single tear ran down her cheek. Without really thinking about it, he reached up and wiped it away.

“Two sides of the same coin, huh?”

His voice came out hoarse and thick with emotion, but Midge smiled anyway.

“Yeah, I guess we are.” She sniffed and stood, padding over and setting her mug down on the counter. “It’s weird. Sleeping you don’t look so scary.”

Mac frowned and looked up, “You think I’m scary?”

She shrugged and pushed up her glasses. “Sure. I mean, I’m not scared of you so much anymore, but you’re definitely _intimidating_ …”

He felt his frown deepen. “You were scared of me?”

She planted her hands on her hips and huffed, “A bit slow on the uptake tonight, huh? Yeah, I was a little...scared of you. Big scary merc and whatever. Then I found out you were a big giant dork.”

“Oh, I’m the dork? Out of the two of us, _I’m_ the dork?”

“Absolutely. Without a doubt.”

Mac laughed, and for a moment, his brain wanted him to do something really stupid. He wished he hadn’t let her put so much distance between them. He should’ve just grabbed her as she got up, pulled her into his lap and—

Fuck. And _nothing._ He was just feeling weird and vulnerable and wanted...comfort. Or something. Maybe he was lonely. Anyway, it didn’t matter. He watched her crawl back into bed and that meant the moment had passed anyway. She gave him a small smile.

“Drink your tea and go back to sleep, you big dummy.”

Mac smirked, “Right backatcha.”

~

Mac woke up that morning with a dog on top of him and the smell of fried cram wafting through the air. Dogmeat turned out to be a cuddler, unsurprisingly. Midge found it incredibly funny. Just stood in front of her frying pan and laughed. Called him adorable and everything. Mac tried to make believe she was talking to the dog.

The day was quiet. He bought some rounds from KL-E-0. Cleaned his rifle. Midge had him take a look at the scope on hers. For some reason, being useful like that made him...giddy, almost. Gratified, at least. He felt happy just to do something for her. Something useful. He immediately decided to ignore it.

Then, as the sun was going down, she suggested they got to the Third Rail, and Maccready honestly choked on his own spit.

It was weird. His brain just couldn’t picture her in a place like that. If he hadn’t met her here, and if they weren’t currently in the place, he would never have imagined her in Goodneighbor either. She just seemed so...innocent. He’d never seen her drink, she was completely averse to chems, and she seemed purposefully oblivious to all things...how did he put this...below the belt? Whatever. Sex. Purposefully oblivious and highly embarrassed by it. Which he really didn’t get.

So, no. The Third Rail didn’t really seem like the place for her. But she insisted, said she loved to visit and hear Magnolia sing, and then she mentioned some new dress of hers and he immediately gave in. He was a weak man, alright?

“So, what do you think?”

She spun around and Mac couldn’t help but chuckle. It wasn’t exactly what he had expected. Or what his caveman brain secretly wished, he guessed. But damn if it wasn’t pretty on her. Peachy yellow and floral patterned. Sure, it kinda looked like some old ladies armchair, but it also exposed more of her than he’d seen so far. It was sleeveless and fluttered around her knees, and the grommet belt she had secured around her waist emphasized her shape. She really was wispy, he thought. Just fragile looking. He noticed there were freckles sprinkled generously across her shoulders and her arms.

“I know it’s a bit tattered and all that, but I figure that’s the new thing, right? Wasteland chic.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you look nice.”

“Thanks! I see you’re sticking with the whole one sleeve shtick. Good for you.”

Mac went to respond, but the words died on his tongue as she secured her pistol in a holster across her thigh, practically drawing her dress up to her hip in the process. It was a simple, purely innocent action, but it made his mouth go dry nonetheless. She dropped the fabric bunched in her hand and reached for the denim jacket she had hung up on the coat rack by the door.

“Shall we?”

Mac swallowed, “Uh...yeah. Yep. Lead the way, boss.”

The bar was lazily crowded, like it always was. Cherry red lights and the low vibrations of conversation filled the room as Midge gave a cheerful wave to Whitechapel Charlie, who seemed happier to see her than he ever had been to see any other human being ever. She sat down at the small table at the far end of the bar and the robot wizzed over.

“Midge, you dirty dog. It’s been too long.”

Midge beamed up at his mechanical eyeballs, “I’ve been busy, Charlie!”

“The usual then?” 

“Yes please!”

Charlie zoomed off and Mac gave her a questioning look which she answered with a swat of her hand, “Oh, he’s a softie, really. Scratch his back and he’ll scratch yours. I brought Buddy in and suddenly we’re best pals. Get whatever you want, by the way. Charlie sees my tab as charity.”

Charlie returned and plopped down a grape nuka in front of Midge, “And the regular rocket fuel for you, Maccready?”

Mac gave the bot a grin and drummed a little on the table, “You know me, Charlie.”

“That I do.”

Charlie grumbled and zoomed right off again, and Midge giggled a little as she popped the bottle cap of her nuka on the edge of the table. “He sure doesn’t like you.”

“I was pretty sure that rusty bucket of bolts didn’t like _anyone_ until you showed up.”

“Oooh, does that make me special?”

“I guess it does.” Mac smiled as she took a sip from her bottle, “Wait a minute, are you telling me that your usual is a grape soda?”

She swallowed and pushed up her glasses, “Yeah, so?”

Mac laughed as Charlie nearly chucked a glass of whiskey in front of him, “What are you, twelve?”

She huffed, “ _No,_ I just...like what I like. Alcohol makes people sloppy, doesn’t it? Not really my cup of tea.”

“Well...yeah, I guess so, but…” Mac stopped for a second and processed what she just said, “What do you mean, _doesn’t it?_ ”

Midge took another sip and frowned, “Nothin’. Just what I said.”

“You don’t drink?”

“Uh...no.”

“Like, ever?”

“Like, ever.”

Mac sat back and took a sip from his own drink, feeling the comforting burn in his chest move slowly down to his abdomen and light a warm fire under his stomach. “That’s so weird. I had my first drink at fourteen, and you’ve never had one at...” He narrowed his eyes and studied her face, “How old are you?”

“Two hundred and thirty four,” she deadpanned. Mac raised one eyebrow and she snorted, “Twenty four.”

“Huh.” Mac leaned back a little in his seat and drained his glass, wincing a little, “I thought you were younger.”

“You thought I was _younger?_ ” She leaned forward on her elbows and furrowed her brows, “How old are _you?_ ”

“Twenty two.”

Her eyes blew up and her mouth fell open slightly as she gaped at him, “Holy Moses. Twenty two?”

Mac shifted a little in his seat, “Uh...yeah?”

“Huh. That’s crazy. I thought you were…” Her eyes went wider, which he honestly thought was impossible, but here they were, “I’m _older_ than you!”

Mac folded his arms. “Pfft. Barely.”

“ _Barely,_ ” she mocked. “But I am!”

“Yeah, well I’m taller, so there.”

“Well, I’m faster, _so there._ ”

“Well, _my_ eyes work. So. There.”

Midge pouted and held her rocket shaped cola to her chest, “Oh, phooey. Point, Maccready.”

Mac raised his now empty glass and gave her a lopsided smile, “I aim to please.”

Her eyes flashed to the empty glass in his hand and her pouty smile turned into something far more wicked, “I have a rotten idea.”

Mac returned her mischievous expression, “Oh yeah?” This night could get very interesting, very fast.

She paused for a moment, obviously debating whether or not to say what she was already saying, “You are allowed to order _one drink_ for me, and I will drink it. This is a _one time offer._ ”

Mac laughed and rubbed his hands together. Decisions, decisions. He could be really mean and get her something absolutely ridiculous, but that wouldn’t be any fun. He tried to think of something soft, something fifteen year old sissies wouldn’t have trouble with.

“Charlie? Two rum and nukas.” She frowned at him and he smiled back, “Relax. It’s sweet, you’ll be fine.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes, stripping off her jacket and draping it over the back of her chair. He found himself staring at her bare arms as she fluffed her hair and stray frizzy ringlets draped around her like a curtain. She placed her chin in her hand, her cheery expression fizzling as her eyes landed on something by the entrance and a cheer erupted through the crowd. Mac turned and spotted a bright red coat and resigned himself to imminent embarrassment.

“Heyyy, Sunshine! Wish I had known you’d be here, I woulda shown up sober.”

Hancock gave her a grin that had all but melted men and women alike, but Midge just pushed her glasses up and gave him an awkward smile. “Hi, Hancock.”

“And you’re with RJ, too. Damn. Somehow I knew you two would get along.” He pulled up a chair and sat, waving off a dark haired girl who was all too excited to come say hello. “So’d he steal you away from me, Sunshine?”

Midge turned bright pink and sputtered, “What?! No, no, that’s not...we’re not...I don’t even…”

Ah, so, that was it. Hancock wasn’t used to dealing with someone so...demure? He wasn’t quite sure if chaste was the right word. He didn’t know if she was truly inexperienced or just easily flustered. But hey, he’d _love_ to find out.

Hancock just laughed, “Relax, doll. Mac and I’ve _shared_ before.”

Oh, _great._ Hadn’t he just decided he really didn’t want her to know about all that? Midge gave Mac a scandalized look that made him more than a little squirmy and he looked away, choosing to scowl at Hancock instead. For someone with so much goddamn charisma, he sure was _obtuse_ about some things.

“Aw, it’s not like that either, huh? That’s a shame. Two of the prettiest things to wander through here, too.” He sighed mournfully and turned to Mac, the glassy look in his eyes cluing Mac in to his all too familiar jet high. No wonder he was so loose lipped tonight. “You get rid of those two gunner douchebags yet? Pay ‘em off or somethin’? What’s ‘is name...Warlock and...Beans? Nah, that can’t be right…”

“Winlock and Barnes,” Mac supplied. “And, no. I haven’t. Although we’ve been around the Commonwealth and we haven’t had a tail yet, so…”

“Good! That’s good. If I were you I’d just put a bullet in their brains. That easy. And you’re good at it, too.” Mac took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair, purposefully avoiding Midge’s gaze and trying to will Hancock to _shut the fuck up already,_ but the Mayor wasn’t done yet. “Huh. What else was I gonna ask...damn jet’s got me all kinds of fucked up. Oh, right! What’s the word on Med-Tek, brother? You find—”

“Hey! Look at that, Magnolia’s starting!” Mac loudly exclaimed as Mags took the stage, sparkling red dress and all, and shot a large wink in their direction. Hancock turned in surprise and then gave Midge a dazed smirk.

“Now, _there’s_ a story. I ever tell you about the time I watched RJ here give Mags a proper—”

“Hey! Shut up man, I...I like this song.”

Hancock frowned at him, “She hasn’t started yet.”

“Yeah, well...I like all her songs, so shut up so I can listen.”

“Pfft. I’m a little too bent to just sit and listen to music at the moment...however beautiful it may be!” Hancock shouted at the end, pointlessly trying to deliver a point to Magnolia. “So, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a brunette with the best rack this side of the Charles waiting for me right on the other side of this bar.” He tipped his hat and strutted off, the dark haired beauty from before happily draping herself across his arm as they retreated. 

Damn. He loved the guy, but fuck, he had nearly forgotten what he was like on jet. Loose and dazed and...talkative. So, so fucking talkative. Which, any other time would’ve been fine. Great, actually. It would’ve meant the night was heading in a wonderful booze and sex filled direction. Tonight it just meant...shit, he didn’t know. A whole lot of awkwardness, probably. He didn’t dare look over at Midge, and was honestly just grateful that Charlie had the sense to deliver their drinks _after_ Hancock had left.

“Oh, jeez. Grape soda might be more my speed.”

He forgot himself momentarily and tore his eyes away from Magnolia, turning instead to look at Midge warily sniffing the drink that had been set down in front of her. He chuckled a little, “Midge, teenagers drink shit— damn. Stuff like that. I think you’ll survive.”

“Well, if I don’t, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

Mac smiled and took a sip from his own glass, immediately regretting it. Way too sweet. “I can live with that.”

She cautiously took a sip, and her face pinched a little before blooming into a laughably surprised expression. “Oh! Well...that’s not too bad. I mean, it’s a lot, but—”

Mac laughed, “That’s a lot to you? Holy shit, Midge. You really are a baby.”

“Would you shut up? I’m sorry we can’t all shoot...whatever you just drank. Scotch or—”

“Whiskey.”

“Well, whatever! I have a delicate palette.” She took another cautious sip and nodded, “This is okay, though. I don’t mind it.”

“You like that?”

“I do.”

“Great. Drink mine.”

She gasped as he slid the glass over to her. “My stars! Are you trying to liquor me up, Maccready? I said _one_ drink, thank you.”

Mac let out a surprised laugh as he realized his mistake, “Oh, right! Sh— Shoot, sorry. I didn’t...that’s not what I meant. It’s just too sweet for me, is all.”

“Ah. Well get your...campfire in a bottle, then.”

Mac snorted and gestured to Charlie, who was already holding up a large bottle with brown liquid sloshing around in it. Damn bot _did_ know him. There was a glass in front of him almost immediately and he leaned backwards in his chair, listening to Mags husky voice echo against the walls. And that voice wasn’t just for show, either. That was just how she sounded. Boy, was it delicious right up against your ear, too. The weird thing was, he’d always pegged Mags as a top. Real commanding dominatrix type, but that’s _definitely_ not the Magnolia he’d spent a meager few evenings with not so long ago. Then again, she was probably an honest to goodness switch. Changed roles whenever it suited her. Kind of like him, he supposed. Her and Hancock were the dynamo, though. Suited each other perfectly. He never really understood why they didn’t just...actually get together. Always kept it strictly physical and remained pals everywhere else. He’d always thought they’d be good together.

A few songs passed like that, Mac letting the comforting burn of whiskey warm his body. Slowly, so quiet he wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or not at first, Midge started humming along, those long, elegant fingers of her tapping out strange rhythms on the table. He tapped the offending hand and she opened her eyes, staring at him as her cheeks glowed a little too pink. Damn light weight.

“Whatcha doin’?”

She sighed mournfully, “Playing.”

“Playing?”

“On the table.” She turned his hand palm up and tapped her fingers across it, humming in time with her fingers, “If only there was a piano down here. I would just _love_ to be her accompanist. I never had a singer at the club, you know. It was just me. Got kinda lonely, but sometimes the attention was nice.”

She was still tapping across his palm, a melody there was no possible way to decipher, and it was...incredibly distracting. “The club? What club?”

“Before the war,” she sighed out. “I played at a jazz club. God, I miss it so much. My whole life was about one thing, you know? And then it all got taken away.” She had his hand cradled in both of her palms now, and was staring at it like if she looked hard enough it would tell her something. “You’ve got great hands, you know. They’re awful big. But not like, sausagey, you know? Very nimble. It’s hard to strike that kind of balance. You would’ve been a _wonderful_ bassist back in my day.”

The hand she was holding had come to life suddenly, overly warm and tingling as she touched it. Mac tried to will that feeling away. “Uh...thanks.”

“I mean it! Jesus, Mac. Look,” she held up his hand and pressed her own against it. “I was a born pianist. I have perfect piano hands. Real slim, long fingers and small palms. You...damn. They really are big, huh? You’ve got bear paws. Or...yao guai, or whatever the fuck they’re called now.”

He looked at her hand pressed against his and silently agreed. He remembered what he thought the day he met her, when she shook his hand and all he could think about was if he squeezed too hard he’d break all the bones in her hand. He knew better now, she wasn’t quite that fragile, but boy did she still look it. Her hand looked tiny against his. She had the other one wrapped around his wrist, and that one looked unbearably little, too. He bet that made her good at certain things, though. She picked locks well, he remembered that. Probably good with knots if anyone ever bothered to teach her. She was super soft, too. Tiny, barely there callouses where blisters from her rifle had healed.

“What are you thinkin’ about?”

He pulled himself out of his thoughts and looked down at her, her eyes comically wide behind her glasses as she stared up at him questioningly. He cleared his throat, “Nothing.” 

“Nuh uh. Don’t believe you. Got a lot of things going on underneath that funny hat, don’t you? Sneaky bastard.”

Her hand finally left his and wrapped around the full glass of the two in front of her and Mac smiled, “You don’t have to drink that, you know.”

“Gonna.” She took a sip and winced a little, “I was wrong, you know. It’s not all that bad. I avoided it like the plague before...you know, everything, but it’s...kind of nice. Warm and fuzzy, sorta.”

Mac laughed to himself. She was feeling _warm and fuzzy_ after barely finishing her first drink. Lord knows what she was gonna be like in about fifteen minutes. A loud cheer went through the crowd as Magnolia finished up that jaunty tune about the train or something and she started on something slower. About halfway through the song, the big clunky robot Midge called Buddy clanked over.

“CARE TO WET YOUR WHISTLE, OR DO YOU REQUIRE A LAUGH?”

Mac snorted in response to such a mechanical voice using weird slang terms and Midge brightened, “Buddy! How are you, pal? They treating you okay?”

“COLD AND REFRESHING.”

“Hell yeah, little dude. Give us a spin, show Mac your tattoos. I did these, by the way.” Buddy started slowly spinning in place, showing off the small doodles drawn in permanent marker on his mechanical body. A little heart with a banner over it reading “mom,” a small daisy, an anchor, two eyeballs with angry eyebrows, Midge pointed to the word “fart” written in bubble letters and pouted angrily, “ _That one_ wasn’t me. I refuse to take the blame. Stupid Deacon thought he was _sooo_ funny.”

Buddy finished his spin and clanked off, leaving Mac grinning. “Stupid drinking machine’s cooler than me. Are your artistic skills strictly limited to robots?”

Midge laughed a little too loud and swatted at his arm, “Oh, I could give you all sorts of cool ink. _Trust_ me. You’d be the coolest merc in the Commonwealth with my help.” She snorted a little, and Mac noticed her glass was almost empty. “RJ...Hancock calls you RJ.”

Mac felt the back of his neck get a little warm. “Uh...yeah. Sometimes.” Among other things.

“Got any other nicknames?”

“Nope.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“You big fat liar.” She giggled again, and plopped her cheek sloppily into her hand, “Robert Joseph...anybody ever call you Robert?”

“Blegh. No. Nobody ever calls me _Robert._ ”

“Yeah, I didn't think so. Joseph?”

“No.”

“Joey?”

“No.”

“Robert...Rob...No, that doesn’t sound right either. Maybe I’ll just start calling you Macaroni.”

“You know, I think Mac is fine.”

She snapped her fingers, “Bobby! What about Bobby?”

The heat in his neck was back again, and in full force. “....No.”

“Oh, I got one! That’s cute, you know. I like it.”

The heat in his neck was slowly crawling up to his face. He could fucking feel it. “I don’t...nobody...would you stop it? Nobody calls me _Bobby._ ”

She had her chin in both hands now, smiling up at him and swinging her feet. “I do now.” A wicked gleam appeared in her eyes and his body responded with sudden heat from the bottom of his stomach. Damn, she looked hot like that. She leaned forward, and he was suddenly met with the fact that he hadn’t realized how low cut that dress was. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”

Mac stared at her incredulously and she dissolved into giggles, sipping from her glass again until it was empty. Another cheer echoed through the room as Magnolia stepped off the stage and they locked eyes, Mags giving him a twinkly wave before taking a seat at the bar. He returned it as Midge let out a cartoonish sigh and draped herself over the table, her head resting on her arms.

“I’m tired.”

Mac snickered, “Are you now?”

“Mhm.” Another small sigh, “Magnolia’s so pretty.”

He glanced at her chatting with some neighborhood watch guy in a pinstriped suit and looked back at Midge’s head, now completely obscured by her hair. “Yeah.”

“I wish I could be more like her. She’s so...confident. Everybody likes her. Knows how to talk to people.”

Mac gave into the itch in his fingers and brushed a stray curl back into place, “I think you’re fine like you are.”

“You do?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, what the fuck do you know?” He laughed and she started giggling in return, burrowing her head against her arms. “Nah, I’m just kidding. You know all sorts of pretty girls. Including Magnolia. You sly dog.”

He frowned a bit. That was confusing. Didn’t exactly know what she was getting at. “I guess.”

“You do. You sure do. I don’t know why I…” She sat up suddenly and took off her glasses, slowly rubbing at her eyes. “Whoo, I am...I am sayin’ a lot of things, aren’t I?”

Mac smiled softly, “You really are tired.” She nodded groggily and slipped her glasses back on. “Maybe we should get you home.”

“You tryna get me to a secondary location, pal? Not gonna happen.” She giggled with her eyes closed and frowned, “Jesus, how many drinks do people usually have? I feel funny.”

Mac snorted as he stood up. He’d had two and he was barely buzzed. _Midge_ two drinks in was already giggly and loose lipped. “Alright, drunky. Let’s go.” When she didn’t move, he held out a hand and she took it. “Don’t forget your jacket.”

She nearly tripped spinning around to grab it, and Mac tried not to laugh as he tugged her along, up the stairs and out into the cold night air.

“Oh, _fuck,_ it’s cold.”

She flung herself against Mac’s arm as soon as the air hit them, and Mac forced himself not to think about how nice she felt pressed against him, or how her feather light hand felt in his. “Put your jacket on, dummy.”

“Don’t wanna.” She rubbed her cheek against his sleeve as they entered the Memory Den, and that was _definitely_ distracting. “Irma! Hi, Irma! How come you never go anywhere, huh? You homebody!”

“Hi, sweetie.” Irma gave him a questioning look and he rolled his eyes.

“Two drinks. She’s a fu— freaking lightweight. It’s ridiculous. Worst I’ve ever seen.”

“Say fuck, Bobby. I dare ya.”

Irma smiled a little, eyebrows still raised. “Right, then. You go have a good lie down, okay Midge, darling?”

Midge shot a sloppy finger gun at Irma, her jacket still balled up in her hand and smiled, continuing to distractingly press her cheek against his arm. “You betcha, babe.”

Mac shook his head and tugged her along towards the narrow wooden staircase leading up to her landing. “You have your key?”

“It’s not locked.”

“You didn’t lock your door?”

“Forgot.”

Mac sighed and turned the knob. Just as she said, unlocked. “Midge, you really have to lock this.”

“Dogmeat’s my guard dog.”

“Uh huh.”

Dogmeat was actually sleeping on the couch, momentarily raising his head when they entered before settling back down with a sigh. Midge dropped her jacket and sighed as well, nuzzling against his sleeve. Somebody was a cuddly drunk.

He shepherded her over to the bed and she all but collapsed against it, sniffing and sitting up to untie her shoes. Those chucks that she always seemed to wear. The one’s she’d practically walked holes in. Mac started stripping off his layers too, taking off his duster and the scarf underneath until he was down to just his undershirt and pants.

“I love that scarf. Did I ever tell you that?”

She was wearing two different polka dot patterned socks, which for some reason, Mac found very funny. “Thanks. It’s my prized possession.”

“Really?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, kinda.” He thought for a second, wondering if he should let her know any more than that. “I’ve...just always had it. I, uh...it’s what I was...I was dropped off with it.”

She let out a small gasp as she laid against her big yellow quilt. “That’s so...that’s so fucking sweet, Bobby.”

“Gee, thanks.”

She sat up quickly, and he was shocked to find there were tears in her eyes. “I mean it! I mean it, you...it’s just…” Her face screwed up and she dug the heels of her palms into her eyes behind her glasses, and Mac immediately felt his stomach drop.

“Hey...Oh, Miriam, please don’t cry. I’m fucking useless if you...if anybody cries.”

“I’m not crying!”

“Yeah. Of course you aren’t.” He stopped right in front of her as she sat on her bed and crouched down until they were eye to eye. “Midge, it’s not a big deal. It’s all—”

“It is! Everything’s a big deal! Children _need_ their parents and—” She sniffed, furiously rubbing at her eyes before she finally looked up, obviously forcibly holding back her tears. “I’m sorry. I need to stop doing this to you, Mac.”

He put a hand on her knee and flinched a bit as he touched her bare skin, “Hey, what happened to Bobby, huh?”

“I thought you didn’t like that.”

“Pfft. I’m a big fat liar.”

She huffed in a half-surprised laugh and messily rubbed at her cheeks. “My face is all hot.”

“I bet.”

“And this stupid...thigh holster is fucking bothering me.” She drew up her dress again and Mac was momentarily frozen in reaction to being so close to...so much of her. Even worse was the fact that she didn’t really seem to care. Or she thought he didn’t care. He couldn’t decided which was worse. She fiddled with the straps until it fell off of her and she set the whole thing gently on the floor by her bedside table. She started working on the belt around her waist and Maccready stood up and stepped away before his body got the wrong impression about what was happening here, instead focusing on the small pepper shaker shaped like a bird on the dresser at the foot of her bed.

“You’d be good with kids, you know.”

Mac’s whole body stiffened before he realized there was no way she could possibly know about Duncan and he turned to face her. “Maybe.”

She sniffed a little and scooted back on her bed, drawing her knees up to her chest. “No, you would be. I can sense it.” She pushed her glasses up and met his gaze, “We have had a tail, by the way.”

Mac scowled, “What?”

“Back in the Third Rail, you said—”

“No, I know, Midge. What do you mean we had a tail?”

She seemed a little startled by his sudden change in demeanor and fiddled with her glasses again, “Just for a little bit. When we were in the city...clearing trade routes. We lost them pretty quick, but...I don’t know, I could just tell someone was following us. Didn’t get a good look, but they were big and clumsy, I’ll tell you that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She just shrugged, “I figured they were there for me. I’ve got my fingers in a lot of pies, you know.”

Mac sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “You...Miriam, if you ever...tell me next time, alright? Jesus. That’s like, my whole job.”

“Twice.”

“What? We were tailed twice?”

“No. You’ve called me Miriam twice tonight.”

“Oh. Well, some situations call for the full name, alright? How else am I supposed to get through your thick skull?”

She giggled a little before her face slid into something a little more sleepy and blank. “Winlock and Barnes. Are they at Quincy?”

Mac shook his head, “No. No, they’re uh...they’re with a whole platoon over at Mass Pike Interchange. Last I heard, anyway. But they’re pretty much leading the assholes there, so they’ve probably stuck around.” Midge nodded thoughtfully before her eyes fluttered shut for a second and Mac chuckled. “You should go to sleep.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” 

Mac snorted and pushed on her forehead, and she reacted by dramatically flopping onto the mattress, giggling the whole way. “Whatever.” He ambled over to the couch and whistled, “Hey, Dogmeat. Beat it, pal. You’re in my seat.”

Midge mumbled from her spot on the bed, “He won’t move.”

“Tell me about it.”

“No, I...it’s stupid, I should’ve thought about it. That’s his spot for some reason. If anyone sleeps over they have to get to the couch before him or he won’t move. Cait even tried just...laying down on top of him and he wouldn’t budge. Don’t know what it is.” She let out a frustrated huff, “And Cait refuses to share a bed with me, so...come to think of it, so does Curie. Deacon’s the only one who’ll submit to the _torture_ of sleeping next to me or _whatever_.”

Mac found himself scowling. He wasn’t in love with the idea of stupid Deacon getting all cuddly with her. The fact that no one else would share a bed with her was...odd, though. “Why’s that?”

“Apparently I’m a rowdy sleeper.” She sat about halfway up and looked over at Dogmeat. “Looks like you’ll have to endure that torture tonight, though. Unless you wanna wrestle Dogmeat for your place on the couch. Cait tried that, too.”

That...made him extremely nervous. Which was weird. It wasn’t the idea of it, or the fact that she was a _rowdy sleeper,_ as she so creatively put it. He’d slept in a pile of other kids for the entirety of his childhood, for shit’s sake. It was just being so close to _her._ Even now he felt the pull of her in his chest, like a string around his ribcage slowly reeling him in towards her. He knew what that meant. And that kind of shit would only complicate this. He knew that, too.

But this was nothing. A dog had taken his place on the couch. That was it. They were sleeping on the same surface. Simple.

So why did it not feel simple?

“Why is my face so _hot._ Does this always happen?”

Midge was holding the back of her hands to her cheeks in an effort to cool them down. It was cute, actually. How pink her cheeks got. And the fact that she was extremely confused and frustrated by it. He shook his head and tried to clear all his weird, complicated thoughts out of his head. Wasn’t she the one who called _him_ touchy? Very low chance she would be the cuddly sort, even in her sleep. This was fine. It was totally fine. 

Mac didn’t answer her question, just ambled over to the bed as she rolled over, giving him the side closest to the door. Which he was secretly grateful for. Always liked being closest to the exits. Although his spot on the couch had given him a perfectly clear line of sight for any intruders or things that go bump in the night. Speaking of…

“Midge, where’s your key?”

“Mmm, jacket pocket.”

She flapped a hand lazily and he fished through the pockets of the denim jacket she had discarded. Sure enough, the small golden colored key on it’s key ring. He locked the front door and looked towards the one that led out to the terrace. No lock. Great.

“You should always keep this locked, Midge.”

“Mkay.”

Mac sighed. It was futile at this point. She was barely even here. Mac sighed and finally sat on top of the quilts, drawing up the patterned afghan that was usually flung across the bottom of the bed. “You gonna get under the covers?”

“No. Hot.”

Mac shook his head and chuckled, reaching out to pull the small chain on the floral patterned lamp she had on her bedside table. “Goodnight, Midge.”

The light clicked off and she sniffed, “Oh, fuck. My glasses. Goodnight, Bobby.”

He heard the soft clattering of her glasses being set down on the nightstand and smiled. Oh, Midge. Silly, dorky, half-blind Midge.

He liked her way too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mac is...very sweet in this chapter. Midge brings out the little kid in him, which I actually really like.
> 
> I mean, don't get me wrong, they're both little shits. But aren't they just the cutest little shits you've ever seen? 🥰
> 
> As always, let me know what you guys think!


	7. Quincy Part II: The Minutemen's Revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Violence and gore, plus the mention and insinuation of rape and sexual abuse.

“Aha! See? I told you I knew where I was going!”

Midge gestured to a small drawing in chalk on a crumbling brick wall and Mac frowned. “I don’t get it.”

“Ugh. Just follow me.”

Mac trudged behind her as she slipped into a narrow alleyway, feeling his irritation grow as he remembered what they were nearing. “Why do we have to meet this jackass out here anyway?”

“Because we’re a team, dummy. All the different squads are meeting in different locations before they begin the assault. Then we convene over the radio and get into position. _Deacon_ is a part of the team.”

Mac fiddled with the small walky-talky looking thing on his shoulder and sighed, “Great.”

Midge frowned, “What’s your problem with each other anyway? Doesn’t make any sense to me.”

Mac thought for a second. He really didn’t know what his problem with Deacon was, he just knew he didn’t like the guy. Or how _friendly_ he got with Midge. Huh.

“I dunno, he just...seems like a creep to me. Always... _lurking._ ”

Midge snorted, “Well, you wouldn’t be the first to say it. But he’s non-negotiable, alright? And I told him the same thing about you, so—”

“Wait,” Mac interrupted, “What’s that ass— what’s his problem with _me?_ ” 

She shrugged, “Not sure. He refuses to tell me. Which is, you know, business as usual.”

Mac found his scowl deepening, “What do you see in that guy, anyway? I mean, why are you...why is he ‘ _non-negotiable?_ ’”

She shrugged again, the braid that Mac did this morning swinging behind her, “He saved my life. Several times over. Wouldn’t be standing here in front of you if it wasn’t for him.” She shot him a look over her shoulder and wiggled her eyebrows, “Plus, he’s a silver-tongued, golden throated son of a bitch. Real sneaky bastard. That can be more fun than you think.”

She turned back around and Mac felt his ears burn. He was properly angry now and couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. And he had a feeling he was about to get a lot angrier.

A stupidly gleeful face with sunglasses peeked out from a dilapidated corner cafe and made kissy faces in their direction, “Aw, look at you two. Cementing the whole ‘terror twins’ persona, huh? Well, baby makes three, so let’s get this dog and pony show on the road.”

Midge threw her head back and laughed as Mac scowled. What the fuck was this guy even talking about? Midge skipped into the diner through the glassless window and Deacon pinched her cheek.

“Hiya Smidgen.”

“Deacon, _darling._ ”

“Aw, I missed you.”

Mac fought the urge to gag and settled on glowering as menacingly as he could. Deacon’s tone was just so sickeningly sweet, and what was with Midge calling him _darling?_ The man in question gave him a shark’s smile and Mac responded with an unchangingly stony scowl.

“Mac attack! You ready to have some fun? Bet that pesky bloodlust is just _itching_ to be fed.”

 _Asshole._ “Sure is.”

“Well, don’t you worry. Plenty of brains to shoot bullets through today.”

Midge wrinkled her nose, “Blegh. So graphic.” She glanced at her pipboy that she rarely wore and wiggled a little, “Tune your radios, boys. It’s almost go time. Should be hearing from our fearless general anytime now.”

Mac turned the dial on his radio until static erupted from the tiny circular speaker. A few seconds later Preston’s voice, strangely warped and tinny, echoed through all three of their radios.

_“Go time, troops. Squad alpha is in position. Squad bravo, report. Over.”_

Another voice came through the speaker, _“Squad bravo in position, over.”_

_“Confirmed. Squad Charlie, report. Over.”_

And down the list they went. Mac was getting slight impatient until finally—

_“Confirmed. Squad Foxtrot, report. Over.”_

Deacon made a strange, staticy noise through his teeth and pitched his voice down until he sounded like some bombastic radio announcer, “Squad foxtrot is in position and on a mission, General. We await your orders with eager hearts and bated breath, over.”

Midge giggled as a long suffering sigh came in through the radio, _“Thank you, squad foxtrot. Move to your nests. We go on your signal.”_

Deacon rubbed his hands together and grinned, “Ready gang?”

Midge chuckled wryly, “As I’ll ever be.”

Deacon moved through the door and clapped a hand on Mac’s shoulder, “To the skies, hawkeyes. Let’s see what you got.” Mac shrugged his hand off and trailed behind Deacon and Midge before they split off towards their respective positions, and Deacon just _had_ to make a comment before they all separated.

“Friendly bet? Killcount competition? If you agree, say nothing and I’ll start counting!”

Mac rolled his eyes and trudged off as Midge laughed, “You’re on. I just hope you’re ready for the student to surpass the master.”

“Midge, I don’t know if you noticed, but I did say if you agreed to say _nothing._ ”

Mac failed to suppress a snort as Midge growled and stomped away. He’d give Deaon that one. It was kinda funny. He reached the high rise apartment building he was looking for and started up the fire escape. That guy Sturges was incredible. His description of the building was dead on. The guy knew pretty much every detail about the town and then some. He had a...what did he call it, idiotic— no, eidetic memory. Yeah. That was it.

The settlement slowly came into view as he climbed and he felt himself slowly come back to center. A cold breeze whipped around him and he let it soothe the frayed ends of his nerves as he got to the roof. He crept forward slowly, he was technically in gunner territory now, and he didn’t really wanna get shot and blow the whole ‘element of surprise’ thing before it even started.

Luckily, Mac’s assumption that by sundown most of the gunner troops would be too busy drinking themselves half to death to put in full effort to their patrols had been correct. There was almost no resistance on this upper level. The tops of the buildings were connected by rickety wood and rope bridges, and he scanned the entirety of the connected walkways as he tuned his radio to the right frequency. He looked through his scope at Midge’s planned position on top of the police station but couldn’t see her. The small clicking that meant someone had made a connection came through the speaker and Mac tensed, waiting for go time. He was getting impatient. He had all this pent up angry energy and nowhere to put it.

_“The handsomest sniper is in position. How you doin’ over there, Macaroni?”_

Mac sighed and clicked the small button on top of his radio, “Yeah, I’m here. Ready to go, I mean.”

_“Way to sound enthusiastic. Specs? You ready? Don’t tell me you forgot to ask for a booster seat or something.”_

There was a small moment of silence that had fear prickling at the back of Mac’s neck before Midge’s sweet voice came through the speaker. _“Yep. Sorry, I’m ready. I, uh...rudely interrupted some poor gunner bastard’s naptime, but I’m ready now. Took care of him.”_

Mac chuckled. She sounded so exasperated with the whole thing. Like she was already bored.

_“Alright, gang. Tune your radios to the General. Quincy Part II: The Minutemen’s Revenge is done with previews and the lights are coming down.”_

Mac rolled his eyes and tuned his radio. He guessed that meant they were ready to start shooting shit, but who fucking knew with that jackoff. Static crackled from the speaker before Deacon’s voice came through, still in that _stupid_ announcer voice.

_“General, your birds are poised and ready to sing.”_

Another sigh before Preston spoke, _“Got it. Take out the perimeter guards and we start moving.”_

Mac grinned and settled into position as he clicked his radio to their snipers frequency. This was easy. Simple. Something he could do well and got instant results. He looked down his scope at a guard lazily lounging on top of a guard post by the front gate and took in a large breath, holding it until the world looked just this side of too still. He squeezed the trigger and watched the guard crumple, feeling more gratified than he probably should. There was immediate noise below them, meaning that wasn’t the only man down. They wouldn’t have noticed a single guard. 

The front gates burst open as a wave of Minutemen barreled through. That made the job a little more difficult. Friendly fire was a big danger here. He focused on the small number of gunners who came out of the woodwork in the stories above the ground. It was easy enough. Some pretty thrilling shots through narrow windows that made him absurdly proud of himself. A commotion came from the ground as a gunner in patched together power armor came lumbering out of the church. Mac cursed. That always made shit more difficult. Somebody just needed to get behind the damn thing and—

Deacon’s voice erupted through the speaker, _“Mac! The church, NOW.”_

He frowned, “Yeah, I see it—”

A whistling rang through the air that could only mean one thing: missile launcher. Mac found the culprit on a narrow walkway on top of the church and took aim, but it took three attempts before he finally got the guy. The explosion from somewhere beyond was incredibly distracting, and the son of a bitch was a long way away. Still, he probably had the best vantage point. Him and—

_“Midge! Come in, Midge, are you alright?”_

An invisible hand twisted his guts as he looked to the police station that was currently smoking. Fucking bastard. His aim sucked, because there was no way he would target that spot on purpose. Didn’t make any sense, tactically. There was a prickling in his shoulders that made Mac’s teeth clench before Midge’s voice came over the radio.

_“It’s me...it’s...I’m fine. Pretty sure that missile blew out my eardrum. I can’t hear much. But I’m fine. Just shoot that dick.”_

Mac released a breath and tried to regain some of his focus. She was fine. She was fine and he could focus on doing what he was being paid for. He watched some dumbass try to scale a building about fifty yards away and took him out, trying to squeeze out his frustration on the trigger. A small explosion echoed through the city and Mac looked down to see the previously noted power armored jerk had been fried inside his armor. Good. The Minutemen had overtaken the city, too. Hardly any grizzled assholes in green to be seen. As if he was reading his thoughts, Deacon came over the radio again.

_“Look at that, I think we’re winning. Barely been half an hour, too. Okay, maybe it’s been a while longer than that. Time flies when you’re havin’ fun, right Mac?”_

A few minutes after that, a couple of men dragged somebody in full combat armor out into the middle of the street. Huh. Weird. Why single this guy out? Shouts echoed through the streets as Preston marched forward, honestly looking like a completely different man at this point. 

_“Holy shit. They’ve got Clint.”_

_“Who?”_ Deacon responded.

_“That’s the one who betrayed the Minutemen. Pretty much started all this bullshit. Or helped it along, I suppose.”_

Mac looked through his scope at the drama that was unfolding in the middle of the city. The man, Clint, was kneeling as two Minutemen held him by the shoulders. He was steadily bleeding from his face as Preston raised his musket in the air and the crowd around him cheered. 

_“Are we watching an execution?”_

Deacon, for once, didn’t even sound snide. Just mildly bemused. Midge responded in almost exactly the same way.

_“I believe we are.”_

Mac scanned the buildings as Preston leveled his shot. Now would be the perfect time for an ambush, with all eyes pointed towards the show in the middle of town, but nothing happened. They had truly overwhelmed them. Hey, good for the fucking Minutemen. The gunners had been beaten by the time the gates opened. No wonder it hadn’t taken long. 

A loud cheer erupted through the crowd and Mac looked to find Clint bleeding out onto the ground, unmoving and clearly dead. Compared to gunner protocol for captured enemy forces, it was downright kind.

_“Aw, would you look at that. He got to say a few last words and everything. The Minutemen are a chivalrous bunch.”_

_“Copy that,”_ Midge replied. _“Quinn’s on her way to the top of the church as we speak. I can see her. Once the flag is up we can declare this an official victory.”_

_“Whoopee! Then it’s cake and punch time, right? Cause that’s pretty much the only reason I showed up.”_

Mac shook his head and watched as a girl climbed expertly to the top of the church, pulling the gunner flag down and replacing it with the blue banner of the Minutemen before raising it again and being rewarded with loud whooping and hollering from below. 

_“Switch your stations, boys. Pretty sure the General will have something to say.”_

Mac fiddled with the dial and waited for a few seconds before Preston did indeed come over the speaker, _“Come on down, snipe team. That was some damn fine work.”_

_“Right away, General. And might I return the sentiment?”_

Preston didn’t sigh in response to Deacon’s ridiculous voice this time. _“You may. Now get your ass down here.”_

Mac grinned and practically raced down the fire escape. Damn, he felt good. The rush of a job well done, he supposed. He circled around through the back gate and unfortunately fell into step next to Deacon.

“Damn, Mac. As much as I’d hate to stroke that ego of yours, I have to admit, that was some good work.”

Mac kept his eyes trained ahead, “I know.”

He laughed and gave Mac an unwelcome pat on the back, “Never change, kid. Especially not the bloodthirsty glint in your eyes. You should _definitely_ keep that.”

Mac rolled his eyes. Asshole was always trying to paint him like some murderous psychopath. He was a good sniper. Wasn’t gonna apologize for that shit.

A small crowd was gathering as Preston stepped up onto the town square. Midge was jogging up to meet them and Mac momentarily forgot himself and grinned as he slung his rifle over his shoulder. He could’ve sworn he heard snickering beside him, but he couldn’t quite remember to care as Midge flung her arms around his neck in a gleeful bear hug.

“We did it! We did it, Mac! You were fucking _wonderful!_ ”

She was practically yelling, and a few of the soldiers turned to look, chuckling as Deacon spoke beside them.

“Yeah, we know, Smidgen. I think you just announced it to the whole Commonwealth. You ever considered a career as a carnival barker?”

“What?!” Midge responded, covering her mouth with her hand as both men winced at her volume. “Oh...sorry. I told you, I think that missile burst one of my fucking eardrums. Just...a lot of loud ringing.”

Mac finally noticed the trail of blood coming from her left ear and tilted her face to inspect it, “Holy shit, you weren’t kidding.”

“Did you think I was fucking kidding, Bobby?”

Preston suddenly started speaking and Midge turned to watch. Deacon was fixing him with a stare that was all too smug and shrewd for his liking and he glowered back, only for Deacon to raise an eyebrow and mouth, _“Bobby?”_

Mac turned away, sure that his face was bright tato fucking red by now. Fucking Deacon. He had worked out almost all of his frustration during the stupid operation only for Deacon to rekindle it all over again. And that was _not_ helped by Midge reaching out and holding that shades-wearing dick’s hand, even as her back was pressed against Mac’s arm.

“Soldiers! Today is a monumental as well as a symbolic victory for the Minutemen.” Another cheer went through the crowd before Preston raised an arm and settled them, “But there’s still a lot of work to do! I’ll start right away on allocating caravans down to Quincy, and we’ll have settlers moving in as of this week, so let’s get this place cleaned up. All injured are instructed to head to the church for first aid. Hop to it, Minutemen!”

A beaming Preston was met with rapturous applause as he left his make-shift soap box and struggled through the crowd, trying to seem commanding and miserably failing as fellow soldiers slapped him on the back and clapped him on the shoulder. When he finally broke through Deacon appeared by his side, and it was only then that Mac realized he’d disappeared from his spot next to Midge. Slick bastard.

Mac put a hand on Midge’s back and shepherded her towards the big white church. “Come on, stringbean. Let’s go fix your face.”

~

A small number of Minutemen with red sashes tied onto their sleeves had set up a makeshift first aid station inside the church. There were a few soldiers inside, mostly with minor injuries, and a couple with gunshot wounds that desperately needed to be tended to. 

He had Midge sat up on a small table as she hummed softly and he soaked a rag in rubbing alcohol from one of the kits scattered around the church. She seemed oddly cheery for someone with half a beat up face, but hey, that was Midge. Strange and seemingly nonsensical reactions to things.

“I can do this myself, you know.”

Mac scoffed, “Yeah, but you’ll take twice as long.”

“So impatient. What are you in such a hurry for, huh Mac? Got a hot date or something?”

Mac rolled his eyes and slipped her glasses off, “Shut up and tilt your face this way.” He jerked his head to the right and she turned, showing the angry red scrapes across her temple and her cheek. Mac hissed and started dabbing gently at her skin. “How’d this happen?”

“Missile blast knocked me on my ass. Or on my face, I guess is more accurate.” She winced and flinched back as he pressed the rag to the large, raw scrape on her cheek, but the hand he had on her jaw kept her in place. “And it blew shit everywhere and gave me those tiny cuts all over which honestly just _itch_ more than they hurt.”

“I bet,” Mac responded as he finally got the scrapes clean. He started dabbing on the smaller cuts dotting her face and furrowed his brow, “Your ears still ringing pretty bad?”

She gave him a little shrug, “Not so much anymore. You’re still all muffled though. Like I’m talking to you through a wall.”

Mac hummed in response as he tilted her head the other way, exposing the trail of blood starting at her ear and trailing in a thin line down her neck. He started slowly wiping it away as Midge slowly started to shake with giggles and he looked up.

“What are you laughing at?”

Midge was staring determinedly at the ceiling, even as an impish smirk took over her face. “Well, first, I might be the slightest bit ticklish. Second, you make the cutest little face when you’re focused. Your bottom lip sticks out and everything. The tiniest of pouts.” Laughter bubbled up in her chest again as Mac shook his head and continued his work, fighting against the burning in his face. Her shoulder twitched up as he reached a spot just underneath her ear and she let out a noise that was half squeak and half laugh.

“Stop that!”

Mac frowned, “Stop what? Getting the blood off of you?”

“Yes! It tickles.”

Mac let a sly grin creep across his lips and put his hand on the table, just slightly invading her space. “Are you ticklish anywhere else?” 

She blinked up at him, a look of childish defiance on her face. “No.”

“Liar.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not!”

He just barely tickled just below her ribs and she convulsed, breaking into laughter as she tried to push him away. “You’re so mean!”

“Don’t lie, then!”

“If I had said yes you would’ve done it anyway!”

Mac shrugged with one shoulder, “Yeah, probably.”

Midge swatted at his arm as her giggles subsided, her hand falling limply and landing on his forearm. Mac suddenly thought about what they probably looked like, with his thigh between her legs as she sat on the table and her hand on his arm and the fact that he’d just _tickled_ the girl who was supposed to be his boss, and right on queue, as if he’d read his fucking mind about what they’d look like if some fucking _creep_ was staring at them, he heard Deacon’s annoying ass voice.

“Hey, why do I hear laughing? I thought you only laughed in my presence, dear.”

Midge rolled her eyes as her hand left Mac’s arm and swept across the table until she found her glasses, “And what am I supposed to do the rest of the time? Sit in solemn silence?”

Deacon hopped up on the table next to her, “On a dull dark dock.”

“In a pestilential prison with a life long lock,”

“Awaiting the sensation of a short sharp shock,”

“From a cheapy and chippy chopper on a big black block!” They finished the rhyme together and broke into laughter, leaving Maccready feeling lost. Again. All while Deacon was giving him the smuggest look a human face was capable of achieving. Fucking show off.

“Hey Mac, you gonna do me next? Kiss my booboos all better?”

Mac scowled, “No. There isn’t even anything wrong with you. Physically, at least.”

“So, what you’re saying is, you’d kiss them all better if I had any?”

Mac gave the most unimpressed look he could muster. “How about you go get yourself beat to hell and then we’ll see?”

Deacon fake shuddered, “Ooh, he’s spicy. Goody for me. I always enjoy the spicy ones, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Wholeheartedly.” She gave Mac what could possibly maybe sort of qualify as an apologetic glance before she slid off the table, Mac stepping back to give her the space. “But I’m all done with my Doctor Mac visit, right?”

She gave him those puppy dog eyes that could melt solid ice and he shrugged, “Guess so.”

“Wonderful! Then on to the Castle we go. Are you coming, Deacon?”

Mac sent out a silent prayer, _please say no, please say no, please say no…_

“Me? Of _course,_ Stringbean. I’m right behind you.”

~

They trudged along the asphalt together, Maccready begrudgingly taking up the rear as Deacon strutted ahead of him. Midge was by his side, seemingly unable to contain near constant laughter. Or at least it sure seemed that way. Mac felt himself getting impatient. They were in gunner central after all, and here they were wandering in the dark.

“Wait, what was your kill count? You said you were gonna count, remember? A little _friendly competition._ ”

Midge elbowed Deacon and he dramatically stretched as he answered, “Fifteen. I like to keep things even, you know. Nice multiples of five. I’m adorably obsessive that way.”

Midge growled and kicked a rock across the road. “Oh, fuck me. _Eight._ My count was eight and I was all proud.”

Deacon brushed a stray curl of hers back in place and Mac immediately wanted to bite the offending hand off. “What about you, Mac? What’s your count?”

Mac tried and failed to keep the self-satisfied look off his face. “Twenty-six.”

Midge’s mouth fell open as she turned around, “Are you fucking serious?” He just shrugged in a non-committal, totally _doesn’t matter,_ kind of way and she huffed, planting her hands on her hips. “Well fuck a duck, Maccready. Jesus shit.”

He felt pretty puffed up at the fact that he’d managed to reduce her to just swears before his mind immediately flashed to a very _different_ and very...not professional way he could get her to do that. Deacon just shook his head and pretended to dust his hands off.

“Well, shit. No point in a little friendly competition when ol’ killshot’s in the field, I guess. You really got us whipped, huh Mac?”

The words were complimentary but the tone said otherwise. Mac tried in vain to burn holes in the back of stupid Deacon’s head to no avail. “Guess I do.”

_“Hello?”_

All three of them froze, and Mac raised his rifle, scanning the road ahead for whoever the _fuck_ just said that, but nobody was there. The street ahead and behind was empty. Nobody in sight.

_“Hello? Is somebody out there? Can you hear me?”_

“Okay, somebody please tell me they can hear that and it’s not the voices acting up again.”

It sounded like...it sounded like a _child's_ voice. Muffled, though. Like they were hearing it through something.

_“Hello!? I can hear you! Please, help me! Get me out of here!”_

“Oh my god.” Midge cautiously stepped towards a large pile of garbage and stared intently at a refrigerator half buried amongst the scrap. “Oh my god, is someone...in there?”

_“Yes! Please, get me out of here! I’ve been trapped for so long…”_

Mac tried to swallow down the lump in his throat as his heart constricted in his chest. It was a _child._ Trapped in a fridge for...oh, god…

“How long have you been in there?”

_“I...I don’t know. I just know it’s been a really really long time. Please, please, help me. I just wanna get out of here.”_

Mac stepped forward and raised his rifle as Midge grabbed hold of his arm, “What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like I’m doing? Shooting the door off.”

Her hand left his arm and he angled his shot. A different hand settled on his arm, large and strong, and he almost growled as he looked back at Deacon’s face.

“Mac, you know as well as I do this could be a trap.”

Mac thought for a second. Yeah, he did know that. It was the first thing he thought of. But there also could be a little kid trapped in that fucking fridge, and who was he to leave him to suffer there? He couldn’t just walk away. Not now. Not when he’d heard the poor kids desperate voice.

Mac raised his chin a little, “And if it isn’t?”

A muscle in Deacon’s face jumped, but he released him and stepped back. Mac angled his shot and squeezed the trigger, blowing the handle off. The door slid and fell off with a heavy thud, and a small boy, his skin burned and ruined and his clothes basically rags at this point, crawled out, wincing in his pain as he stretched out his legs. It was oddly reminiscent of another little boy Mac knew, who he had to watch painfully try to walk as the blue boils covering his skin worsened. Mac worryingly thought that this might be too much for him to handle.

“Woah! It’s so bright out here! Even at night time! It was always so dark in the fridge.”

Mac kneeled down and caught the little boy's hands as he stumbled forward on unsteady legs. “Hey, are you alright, pal? Not hurt anywhere, are you?”

The boy shook his head, “No...no, I’m not—” His eyes widened and he yelped as he looked at his own hands. “My skin! What happened to my skin?!”

Mac felt tears prickling at the back of his eyes. _Two hundred years._ “What’s your name, buddy?”

The boy looked up at him, tears slowly spilling from his eyes. “Billy...my name is Billy Peabody.”

Midge suddenly knelt down beside Maccready. “Did you get trapped in there when the bombs came, Billy? Is that what happened?”

Billy slowly nodded, sniffling as tears ran fast down his rough cheeks and down his chin. “Y-yes...I heard the sirens and I...I hid in there from the bombs. But then I couldn’t get out! Please...please, I just want my mom!”

Poof. There went his heart. Squished like an overripe mutfruit. But he wasn’t going to cry. Not in front of this poor kid. Absolutely not. Midge had gotten up and turned away, and Maccready didn’t dare look back at her.

“Okay. Can you tell me where you live, Billy?”

“Mac—”

Maccready silenced Deacon with the raise of his hand and just kept smiling at Billy, hoping none of this soul crushing doom was seeping into his expression. The child nodded, lip quivering as he struggled through his response. “Yes...I— I live in Quincy.”

Mac gently grabbed the boy's shoulders and squeezed. “Can you show me?”

Billy hiccuped, “I...I think so. I don’t know, mister, everything’s all...everything’s all ruined!”

A small choking sob that he recognized as belonging to Midge came from behind him. Mac just continued to smile as he stood and took Billy’s hand. “Try for me, okay? We’re gonna find your home, Billy. I’ll help you. Just lead the way.”

Billy nodded and Mac risked a look back at Midge as they started moving forward. She had been crying against Deacon’s shoulder, and he gently roused her and got her moving as he shot Mac a grim look. No, they didn’t understand. He should know. Even if what he finds out is bad, he should know what happened. They owed him that much.

They hadn’t been walking long, Maccready trying desperately to distract the poor kid with questions about his house, about toys, etcetera, before Deacon came to his shoulder and whispered in his ear.

“This is a bad idea, Mac.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You’re gonna break the poor kid’s heart.”

“He should know.”

“RJ—”

Mac stopped and finally turned to look at him, staring deep into those unreadable sunglasses. “He deserves to know. Every kid...every kid deserves to know what happened to their parents. Even if it’s bad. He...he deserves to know what happened to them.”

Again, something small twitched in Deacon’s face before he responded, cool and neutral. “You’re right.”

Mac never once shifted his eyes, even if their faces were barely two inches apart. “I know.”

He started walking again as Deacon retreated, looking down and smiling at a worried looking Billy. “Were you arguing about me?”

Mac shook his head, “Nah, just if the weather would hold up. You know, mungos love to talk about the weather.”

Billy tilted his head, “Mungos?”

“You know, grown-ups.”

“Oh.” Billy swung their hands a little. “I hope my baseball cards are still there. I had a lot.”

“Oh yeah? How many?”

“Forty-two.”

“Holy smokes, that is a lot.”

“Yeah. Not more than Sammy G., though. He has sixty-six.”

Mac’s smile fizzled as he spotted a figure walking towards them in the near darkness. Big assault rifle and fatigues that he could spot a mile away. Gunner. He stopped in his tracks and Billy tugged on his hand. “What is it? Who is that? Do you know him?”

Mac felt his brain slide into crisis mode as he pushed Billy backwards, “That’s a bad guy, okay Billy? Go stand back there with Deacon for me, will you?”

Billy skittered towards Deacon and hid behind him, grappling onto his legs in fear. Deacon himself seemed to have suddenly grown a few inches taller as he slowly, gently pushed a trembling Midge behind him and readied his rifle. He watched Midge’s pale hand reach out and hold on to Billy’s behind Deacon’s back, while the other held her tiny pistol.

“Hey, you!” Mac whipped around as the man’s voice called out and strode forward, hoping to put as much space in between him and the rest of the group as possible. “Cute kid you got there.”

Mac realized he vaguely remembered this asshole and felt his stomach drop as he tightened his hold on his rifle. If there was any time that his little gunner bounty would be most inconvenient, it was now. “Yeah? What’s it to you?”

The man shrugged, his long, oily hair moving with his shoulders. “I could take him off your hands, is all. Lotta market for ghoul kids, if you know what you’re doin’. You can work ‘em real hard...” He slowly looked him up and down, before a smile that was more like a grimace bloomed across his face, “And you know what you’re doin’, don’t you? You’re the little Maccready rat.”

Mac puffed himself up to his full height and lifted his chin a little for emphasis. “Turn around, asshole. Ain’t nobody here who’s gonna sell a ghoul kid to you, you fucking psychopath.”

The man wrinkled his nose, “Oh, yeah? Well I could always just...take him, you know. Asshole.”

“Look at your odds, fuckhead. You like playing three against one? Get it through your thick fucking melon, _you can’t have him._ ”

The man let out a cruel laugh, “Three, huh? Really? You gonna count the girl hiding back there? I’d take her too, you know. She’s a pretty little thing. Probably bring in caps by the barrel full.”

Mac almost burst a blood vessel restraining himself from bashing this creep’s fucking head in with the butt end of his rifle. Deacon piped up from behind him, his voice noticeably darker and the timber of it honestly even causing Mac’s hair to stand on end.

“Hey, pal? I’d turn around if I were you. See, I get real possessive. And I really don’t like people trying to touch my things, alright? So how’s about you slink back into whatever dark corner you came from and you can end the day with both kneecaps and your brains inside your skull.”

“In other words... _Fuck. Off.”_

The man just looked down at Maccready for a moment before huffing and turning away. “Suit yourself, _Maccready._ Suit yourself. A shame about the girl, though, really. Could have painted her up real pretty. Bet fellas would pay their weight in caps to pass that thing around like a doll.”

Mac ground his teeth so hard he was worried they might just shatter in his mouth, but for once in his goddamn life, managed to keep a lid on his temper as the man skulked away. As soon as he was out of view he turned around, looking for anything to crush or destroy or kick to pieces before he blew up. Instead, his eyes landed on Midge. Pale and shaking and as much as she was trying to hide it, terrified. 

“Miriam, don’t you dare listen to a word he said, okay?” She nodded feverishly, her cheeks glistening with silent tears and Mac glanced down at the kid. “You too, Billy. He won’t lay a finger on you. Not one. Not if I have anything to say about it.” He turned back around and mumbled to himself, “I’ll tear him apart with my teeth if I fucking have to.” 

Purposefully loud footsteps came up to meet him and he turned to look at Deacon. “He’ll be back. With more.”

Deacon nodded, “Yeah, he will.”

“So, let’s find this kids house. Bring him back to Quincy if we have to. At least it’ll get him out of the way when they come back.” Mac took a breath, “And leave Midge there, too.”

“She won’t like that.”

“I don’t care. I’d rather her—”

“I know. I agree. Just making sure we’re on the same page.” He retreated backwards and took up the rear, pushing Midge and Billy in front of him so they were flanked on both sides by a heavy gun. He knew exactly what he was doing, and somehow, yeah, they were both on the exact same page.

A few minutes later they were weaving through swampland, guided by Billy’s timid directions. He got excited suddenly as he recognized his old neighborhood, and Mac brightened a little before realizing heartbreak was waiting at the end of all this. 

“There! Right there, that’s my house!”

Mac stared at the small two story a few yards ahead, “The one with the lantern on the porch?” The _lit_ lantern.

“Uh huh! That’s it! Look, even my mailbox is still here!”

Mac tried to tell himself it was crazy. That there was no way his parents could possibly still be alive. But if you told him this morning about a kid trapped in a fridge for over two hundred years he’d call bullshit on that, too. Yet here they were. And _someone_ was living here. There were lights coming from inside the house.

Mac turned around to face the little boy, his hand in Midge’s as he vibrated with excitement. Midge looked about half a second from vomiting. “Billy, what are your parents names?”

“Carol! Matt and Carol Peabody at 635 Neponset Lane!” He rattled off his parents names and address just like he’d probably been taught two hundred some odd years ago and Mac smiled before turning towards the house and walking onto the porch. He took a deep breath and knocked three times on the door, pleading with whoever was listening to _please_ let his wildest most hopeful thoughts be true, and the door slowly opened. A man appeared, wary and more than a little confused. Mac’s heart leapt up into his throat. The man was a _ghoul._

Mac cleared his throat, “Uh, excuse me, I’m looking for Matt and Carol Peabody?”

Mac’s eyes flashed to the man’s hand tightening around a poorly concealed pipe pistol. “I’m Matt Peabody. What do you want?”

His jaw practically fell to the floor. No way. No fucking _way._ He was alive. His father, at least, was alive. “Sir...sir, I don’t really know...I have your son. I brought—” Mac threw words away and simply stepped back to reveal Billy, holding on to Midge’s hand and Deacon’s knee before his eyes settled on his father.

“Dad!”

“ _Billy?!_ ”

The boy flew forward, barreling into his fathers arms as he swung the door open and hoisted his son up. His mother wasn’t far behind, running from her spot hidden behind the staircase as she called out. “Oh, _Billy!_ Oh my god! We thought we’d never see you again! We thought...all these _years._ ”

Mac found tears running down his cheeks and forcefully rubbed them away. Matt Peabody looked around at their motley crew and waved them inside, “Please, please, all of you come inside.” 

Mac waited for Midge and Deacon to go through the door before he did, but Deacon practically shoved him inside, anyway. He shut the door behind them all and Mac was forced to watch as Mrs. Peabody wept as she looked over her son. It was hard. It was incredibly hard to watch.

“Mom, are my baseball cards still here?”

Mrs. Peabody let out a near hysterical tear-filled laugh, “Funnily enough, Billy, yes. Yes, they are. I have them...oh, goodness...I have them over here in a drawer, darling.”

Mr. Peabody turned to Mac and grasped his hand. “Please, let me...I don’t know what I could possibly give you to repay you for bringing us our son, but I—”

Maccready held out a hand, “No, sir. This...this was already a better outcome than we would’ve dared hope for. Don’t...don’t worry about all that.” 

Mr. Peabody stared at him for a moment before pulling him forward and wrapping him in a hug. Mac felt way too hot as he released him, moving down the line as he wrapped Midge in a tight embrace, and finally giving Deacon the most awkward hug Mac had ever seen in his entire life.

Billy held up a large stack of baseball cards and grinned, “See, mister? I told you! Forty-two!”

Mac opened his mouth to respond, but before he could get the words out a loud gunshot rang through the air and they all dropped to the floor. Maccready quickly scanned the room and found that Deacon was doing the same from his spot pressed up against the door. They hadn’t shot _at_ the house. It was a warning. Or more like an arrival announcement, really.

The same man from before bellowed out his commands from somewhere moderately close to the front of the house. “Alright, Maccready! I want those ghouls. Especially the kid. And I want the girl, too! Up to you how you wanna give ‘em up.”

Another, higher pitched voice laughed and yelled from the same position, “Whole ghoul family’s gonna bring in caps by the truckload!”

There were laughs and a murmur of agreement, and Mac tried in vain to count the voices. Five...maybe six of them? Dammit.

“It’s been a while since the squad got to break in a new girl! We’ve got a collar ready and everything!”

More laughs and an outraged gasp from Mrs. Peabody as she grasped at Midge’s shoulder, who up until now had been crouching in front of the family with her arms flung out. Mr. Peabody stepped in front of her, nodding for the three of them to get upstairs. Midge shot a look at Deacon who nodded before she accepted her fate and crept upstairs with Mrs. Peabody and Billy, pistol in hand. 

“You know what I think? Just as a little treat, Maccready? I think I’m gonna leave here with your head on a spike. Think about the promotion I’ll get after the squad sees that!”

Mac growled and steeled himself for a shot through the window but Deacon reached out and held on to his sleeve. “Don’t. You know what they’re doing. Trying to goad you into reacting before you’re ready.”

“They’re not _bluffing,_ Deacon.” It didn’t come out snide like he hoped it would, but pained and almost pleading. 

“Yeah, I know. But don’t you worry, pal, you’re leaving this place with your head on your shoulders.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

Mac finally looked into Deacon’s face. His mouth was forced into a hard, thin line and his jaw was clenched, and Mac thought that maybe Deacon already knew exactly what he was talking about. He just really didn’t wanna think about it.

“Wait for my signal. Run your mouth until then.I hear you’re good at it.”

Before Mac could protest, Deacon was slinking through the back door, impossibly silent and faster than he thought was possible for a man of his size. Mr. Peabody was poised on the stairs, his pipe pistol clenched in two hands as he stared at the door. Okay. Game time.

Mac stood and pressed himself against the wall, his nose just barely at the trim of the window as he yelled, “Not gonna happen, dickhead. Looks like you’ll have to run home without a gift for daddy.”

“Big words, Maccready. Especially from some limp dick kid hiding in a fucking _shack._ How about you come out and face me like a man?”

“I just wanted to let you have a few last words before I blow your fat fucking head off. Got anything to say? Pleas for mercy? Last minute confessions? Tick tock, bitch.”

The second voice growled before speaking, “This is bullshit, Bullet. Can’t we just get in there and filet the little—”

Outraged screams came from the small group and Mac chanced a look out the window. A wiry, gaunt looking woman had been shot between the eyes and was lying crumpled and limp on the ground, while Bullet was wrestling an invisible force and the rest of his troops ran for cover. Mac counted four. Easy enough. 

Mac took his shot and grinned as a gunner who’d just barely come up from behind a railing collapsed, and then he took out his buddy on the other side of the narrow street. He sure fucking wished he was the one who got to bash Bullet’s stupid fucking face in, but was gratified that Deacon seemed to be doing so with an extreme amount of prejudice. Any other time he’d probably sneer at a stealthboy and call it cheating, but the gunners had it coming. 

Deacon finally shimmered into view a few seconds after Bullet had gone still on the ground, angling a shot somewhere that Mac couldn’t see through the window. Must’ve miscounted then, because he thought the two currently cowering in the small brick house a few yards away were the last of them. Mac finally flung open the door and charged forward, stopping when one of the gunners' heads bobbed into view through one of the windows, taking his shot and watching as he disappeared in a pink cloud. Deacon got the last one, his silenced shot landing just a few seconds after he’d kicked the door in. 

Mac stepped forward and let his eyes fall over Bullet's lifeless corpse as it sat in a pool of his own blood. His face was basically unrecognizable at this point, and it filled him with a sick sort of satisfaction that made him sure he was a bad, bad man. But at least he wasn’t a fucking _slaver,_ so there.

“Well, _that_ sure was easier than I thought it would be. These guys sure have gone downhill since you left their little organization, huh?”

Maccready looked up at Deacon and shook his head. “I was never...They were always like this. Total lack of organization and...skill.” He looked up, “Obviously not a problem you have.”

“Admiring my handiwork, huh?” Deacon passed by him, refusing to look down at the corpse on the ground. “Can’t say he didn’t deserve it. Shouldn’t have talked about my favorite girl that way.” He shrugged. “The ghoul kid too, I guess.”

He sounded so cheerful about the whole thing, like they just got done playing nursery games or something instead of shooting down a bunch of glorified raiders. He kept his tone light and jovial, even if he kept his eyes off the ground and his shoulders taught. Weird.

“Go and get Midge and we’ll head out. I’d like to avoid the Peabody’s declarations of gratitude if I can help it.”

Mac chuckled, “Trying to avoid another hug?”

“Yes. I’m deathly allergic. If lovely Carol decides to get handsy I might break out in a rash.”

Maccready shook his head and traipsed up to the house, finding the first floor empty. He followed voices up the stairs and found Midge wringing her hands as she said her goodbyes to the family.

“Midge? We’re heading out.”

She jumped a little as she turned to face him, and there was that fake smile again. Shaky and apologetic for god knows what. Billy piped up as Midge joined him on the stairs.

“Thanks for taking me home mister!”

Mac smiled, “No problem, Billy.”

“Your girlfriend’s really nice.”

He put a hand on Midge’s back as they started down the stairs, “She sure is. Bye, kid.”

“Bye bye!”

Mac chuckled as they reached the bottom of the stairs and tried to ease some of the tension that was practically oozing off of her, “Crazy day, huh? Least the kid got his baseball cards back. Losing a collection that big would really—”

Midge abruptly stopped and turned to look up at him, “I’m so sorry, Mac.”

Fuck. There she went again. Zigged while he zagged and somehow found a way to feel guilty for...god knows what. “What?! Midge what on earth could you possibly be sorry for?”

She shook her head, looking more and more frazzled by the second. “I’ve...I’ve been completely _useless._ I completely fell apart in front of that poor boy and...and then that man started talking about…” She dropped her head into her hands and sighed, “I just...I lost my senses and I feel...I’m just sorry.”

Maccready just stared at her. He couldn’t believe it. She was honestly apologizing to _him_ for not keeping it together while big men with guns threatened to put her in a collar and...fuck, he didn’t even want to think about it. And as for Billy? Well, shit, he’d had a hard time keeping it together too. And he’d read her interview in Piper’s paper. Or, you know, he’d skimmed it. Her son had been snatched by the Institute. No fucking wonder she’d been a little shaken by a little boy crying for his mom. He sure as shit had been.

Mac gently took her by the wrists and pulled her hands off her face, almost immediately regretting revealing the pitiful expression underneath. “Midge, you have nothing to apologize for.”

She shook her head again, “You keep saying that but—”

“I say it because it’s true! Jesus Midge, who could possibly blame you for being terrified when—”

“I could!” She hissed, obviously wanting to yell but afraid of anyone else hearing. “I could blame myself for… Just— nevermind. I don’t wanna…” She looked him over, from his hat to his boots before smoothing out the collar of his duster. The feeling of her hands pressing against his chest sent electric pulses across his skin, even at the most _inconvenient_ time and place ever. “We need to fix this.”

Mac frowned. How did she teeter totter from going way too in-depth about any topic ever to giving fragments of three different conversations she seemed to just be having with herself? “What? Fix what?”

“This,” she said. Gesturing to pretty much his whole body. “That man...he didn’t recognize you right away. Which means they all have a pretty vague description of what you look like and that _includes_ this signature get up you’ve got on. So, it’s got to go. However dashing it may be.” 

She looked up at him through sparkly eyelashes and gave him a shaky attempt at a small smile. Mac grabbed the hand that went to dust off his shoulder and it stiffened in his grip, “Midge, I don’t really think that’s what’s important right now. We’ve got bigger things to—”

“Well, I say it is!” She growled, practically baring her teeth at him. “I could hear them, you know. From upstairs. If they’re willing to...to buy and sell children and...put girls in—” She shook her head. “I don’t want to know what they would do to you. I really don’t. Now can we please just _go?_ ”

Her voice cracked on the last word as she wrenched her hand away and slipped out the door. Mac was at a loss. She pulled away so suddenly sometimes and it was impossible to reach her. Or it seemed that way, at least. He wanted to fix this, but he didn’t know how.

And for some reason, it didn’t frustrate him like it usually would. It just hurt. And he didn’t understand that either.

~

What _was_ frustrating was that Deacon seemed to convince her to stay at Quincy overnight instead of soldiering on to the Castle with just a few looks and small touches. _That_ pissed him off. So much so that when the three of them found an empty corner with a few bedrolls in it in the pharmacy he immediately excused himself, using a much needed smoke break as an excuse.

He bet stupid _Deacon_ knew what to do. Probably knew exactly how to get that pitiful, panicked look out of her eyes and get her back to her silly self. He probably could get that pretty smile of hers to come out on queue, the one that always came with twinkling eyes and a warm feeling in his chest. Maybe even that slow, wicked smile that sometimes came out to play and Mac couldn’t get enough of. Stupid, shady _dick_ probably knew all of that and then some. It made him angry. Way more than it should. 

Then his anger shoved his thoughts to the taunts Bullet had dished out and his stomach dropped to the asphalt. The worst part was that it wasn’t a bluff. Not one word. He’d been with the gunners a couple months when they brought their first girl in. Some milkmaid from a tiny settlement he’d never heard of. He’d never forget the way her screams sounded as those disgusting men laughed with it. They _laughed._ Laughed and laughed as she screamed and cried somewhere out of sight. Then they’d laughed some more when Mac had immediately paled and threw up in a trashcan. Just slapped him on the back and called him green. The second time they brought a girl into camp was the day he left. And unfortunately, he didn’t leave quietly.

That’s how he knew none of it was talk. As much as he tried to push it away, that was the truth of it. A man like _Bullet_ getting his hands on a girl like Midge meant her death. Eventually. She was just too little to survive something like that. She wasn’t hardened like wasteland women had to be. And Bullet would do everything he said he would and then some. Slap a collar on her neck, drag her into some disgusting camp by her hair and tie her up in one of their shacks. He’d seen the paradise falls slavers do the same thing. They always went for the girls hair first, because it fucking _hurt_ and they knew that. Some of the girls in lamplight would just buzz their hair off because of it, and Mac knew that’s the way it would go. They’d have dirty, bloody hands in her too long hair and those fucking animals would pay to hurt her. Top dollar. If they really thought she was a prize, which they would, they’d keep her alive long enough to sell her to one of the more specialized slaver rings, but it didn’t matter. That kind of brutalization would kill her before long. God, he hated this fucking place. The world was sick and disgusting and he _hated_ it.

“Mac, are you alright?”

Maccready jumped at the sound of Midge’s voice. His cigarette had burnt down to nothing and this point and he tossed it away as he slowly became aware of his nails digging painfully into his own palm and unclenched his fist. Midge was standing a few feet away, looking timid and so, so gorgeous in the moonlight. He wished he could just pick her up and put her in his pocket where nothing could touch her. Hide her away from the cruelty of the outside world and keep her somewhere safe and beautiful, which is exactly where someone like her belonged. Not here. This world was too rough and too dark and too _wrong_ —

“You’re really pale, Bobby. Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

Even now she was worried about _him._ A man had stood ten feet away from her today and threatened to put her in a collar and brutalize her and she was worried about _him._ Always was. Just that thought seeping into his brain made it feel like someone had taken his heart and wrung it out like a wet rag.

Midge placed a hand on his arm and smiled softly and something in him snapped. It was too much.

His arms were around her before he really registered what he was even doing, and at this point he was too riled up to care. It didn’t escape his notice that they fit together perfectly, with the top of her head tucked under his chin like it was meant to go there. She didn’t even tense in his arms, just melted flush against him as her arms wrapped around his middle and her little hands balled up in the fabric of his duster. Mac cradled her head against him, idly stroking his thumb across her hair as his breathing became forced and ragged. She should know. He had to let her know that he would be there.

“Miriam.” He felt her try to look up at him at the sound of her name, but he held her firmly in place. It was easier if he wasn’t looking directly at her. “Miriam, I would never, _ever_ let anything like that happen to you. Ever. Do you understand?”

He thought she might ask what he was talking about, but she didn’t. She knew. And he knew she probably hadn’t stopped thinking about it since Bullet had fucking said it. She just hummed in acknowledgement and he tightened his hold.

“Nobody’s gonna lay a finger on you while I’m around, okay?” He felt a little jolt in her chest that he knew was a choked down sob and started rubbing slow circles across her back. He felt himself slowly steel into his new promise. He’d fucked up plenty of times in his life, but he never made the same mistake twice. He’d lost one girl—

And then he blanched when he realized who he was comparing Midge to. He’d done exactly what he was afraid he’d do. What had he told himself? Get out before he actually fell for this girl and got himself into something that was way too complicated.

But, fuck it. He’d done it and there was no way in hell he was leaving now.

They stood like that for a long time, Mac feeling warm despite the chilly breeze that whipped around them, until Midge squirmed a little in his arms and finally looked up at him. She smiled a little and Mac felt his heart glow. There she was.

“We should probably get some sleep, huh?”

Maccready didn’t really see the appeal of doing anything besides holding her like this but agreed anyway, “Yeah, I guess we should.”

She slowly slipped out of his arms and he immediately missed the feel of her as she ambled back to the door of the pharmacy. “Deacon’s reading his Poe collection. I’m gonna see if I can con him into reading us a bedtime story.”

She grinned back at him as she slipped through the doorway, all sparkling mischief, and Mac rolled his eyes despite the little dance that was happening somewhere deep in his chest.

“Oh, _brother._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy moly, that was a doozy. Looooong chapter. 
> 
> Let me know what you guys think! <3


	8. As The Crow Flies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I've been crazy busy, and for some reason this chapter gave me a crazy amount of trouble. Enjoy!

The trek to the Castle was insufferably long. Emphasis on the “suffer” part.

First of all, it was fucking cold. Frigid, wet, freeze your balls off cold, complete with spitting rain and gray skies. And it got colder the longer they walked. Going from the swamps around Quincy straight to the fucking coast was _brutal._ He hated being wet. And cold. He begrudgingly admitted that Midge might be right about that one missing sleeve.

Speaking of Midge, her and Deacon certainly didn’t seem to mind the cold. Although he would be warm too if he was expelling as much hot air as they were. Half the time he didn’t even know what the fuck they were talking about, and it made him feel like a dumb little kid. He was pretty sure the two of them could make _anyone_ feel stupid, actually. 

For instance, he’d just figured out they’d been talking about some dumb book he’d never heard of and it had been _fifteen whole minutes._

“Oh, speaking of Hemingway, he’s a big part of my theory about where all the unmutated cats are coming from.”

Deacon chuckled, his head never actually turning towards her as he scanned the small path up to the Castle but obviously humoring her despite that, “Oh yeah? Let’s hear it.”

Midge threw her hands out, gesturing wildly as they walked, “Okay, so the Keys were probably all but untouched, right? I mean, Florida wasn’t hit as hard as here, probably. So maybe the kitties wandering around Hemingway’s place lost a little fur at one point but they soldiered on. Now, as for how they got to the mainland—” She stopped suddenly and looked up at the fort. “What the fuck is a vertibird doing here?”

Deacon sighed as his tone slid into something decidedly more bitter, “Oh, you know, typical Brotherhood shenanigans. Showing up uninvited is probably one of the core tenets of their beloved _codex._ ”

Mac snorted and both Midge and Deacon shot him a look. He shrugged, “What? He’s right, it’s pretty much all they do.”

Deacon grinned, “Oh, nothing, pal. That’s just the first noise you’ve made since we left, is all. I thought you’d gone mute.”

Deacon wiggled his eyebrows and Mac rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, you’re finally onto a topic I have something to say about,” he grumbled. “A _lot_ to say, actually.”

Midge pouted and stomped a little as she stepped through the Castle doors, mumbling under her breath, “Bigoted shit-head motherfuckers.” 

Mac stared as Deacon barked out a surprised laugh, “Woah there, young lady. You must really like the taste of soap.”

Midge punched his arm and growled, “Stay here.”

Deacon rubbed the spot on his arm where she’d punched him and muttered, “Potty-mouthed brat,” just loud enough for her to hear. She flipped him off behind her back as she marched across the courtyard, disappearing into the walls as Deacon chuckled next to him.

“Damn, I hate being benched.” Mac just hummed in response and watched Deacon throw his head back and sigh in his peripherals. “God, you’re no fun today.”

Mac kept his eyes trained straight ahead. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“You should be.” He rubbed his hands together and sighed, “Whelp. I’m gonna go figure out why the Brotherhood decided to grace us with a visit. You...stay here and look grumpy, I guess.”

Mac frowned, “Didn’t Midge say—”

But he was already strutting away, “I outrank her, sourpuss.”

Mac rolled his eyes and fished in his back pocket, lighting a cigarette as he leaned against the stone archway into the courtyard. He was actually half grateful for the silence and the lack of Deacons...Deaconisms. Mac watched the smoke from his lips spiral and fizz out into nothing in the cold air as a large man in an orange flight suit appeared on top of the fort, marching towards the vertibird. Mac stared him down as a woman in scribe digs jogged after him, Preston hanging behind as he emerged from the staircase as well, scowling with his arms folded. It was an extremely frigid parting. He wondered what had gone down there.

Midge appeared in the courtyard as the vertibird started up, and all the Minutemen in the vicinity held onto their hats as it lifted off of the ground, blowing dirt and clumps of grass violently into the air. Midge stomped towards him, red in the face and obviously mumbling under her breath. She looked around, her scowl deepening when she took in Deacon’s absence.

“He just slunk off, didn’t he?” 

Mac blew out a small puff of smoke. “Yep.”

“That impatient little…” She huffed, “I would’ve just _told him_ what was going on. Rat bastard.”

A little mischievous thought plucked at Mac’s brain and he smirked, “He said he outranks you.”

Her mouth fell open, much to Mac’s glee. “Oh, _did he now?_ ” She let out a wry laugh, “I’m gonna kill that man one day. It won’t even be my fault. He’ll bring it on himself.”

Mac snorted, “I’ll help you.”

Midge sucked her teeth as a little of the angry redness drained from her face, “I’m sure you would.” She waved a hand and turned to walk across the courtyard again. “Come on, Bobby. Our murder plot can wait. I have work to do.”

She took him to the room they’d been in the first time they’d visited the Castle, half rec room, with two sets of bunks pushed into the back right corner, and promptly left him there. Told him not to move a muscle and then flew right out again. So he awkwardly dawdled alone in the large stone chamber, finally extinguishing his cigarette in the helpfully supplied ashtray on one of the bedside tables as Midge came barreling through the door a few minutes later, a large bundle of fabric in her arms. She tossed it all on the nearest bunk and turned to him, hands on her hips and a wide grin on her face.

“Well?”

Mac found himself smiling back and shrugged, “Well what?”

“Start stripping, Mac. I’ve put together a lovely ensemble.”

He cocked one eyebrow, “Want me out of my clothes so bad you’re finally just asking, huh?”

She rolled her eyes and folded her arms, but wasn’t quite able to keep the blush from her cheeks. “Would you shut up _,_ you jackass? We talked about this. Your look is too recognizable, however...lovably scruffy it may be. We’ve gotta change it up.”

Mac thought it was awfully bold of her to call _him_ scruffy, but relented anyway, undoing the buttons on his duster as Midge turned to the large pile of clothes she’d dropped at the foot of one of the neatly made beds.

“Pants first.”

Oh, she was going to _stay here_ while he changed. Great. That could get very awkward very fast. She tossed a pair of army green cargo pants behind her and Mac barely caught them and frowned. “Boss, these are pretty much the same as what I’ve got on.”

Midge sighed, “ _Yes,_ but those have got tons more pockets. And your pants are all ratty at the ends. It’s definitely an improvement.”

Mac scoffed and started on his belt buckle, suddenly realizing his little habit of not wearing underwear could make this much more awkward than it already was. 

“Fine, but no peeking, alright? Keep your back turned and your eyeballs in your head.”

Midge laughed a little, “I’m not looking! And my eyeballs are _closed._ ” She held up her glasses in one hand, “Look, I couldn’t even see you if I wanted to.”

Mac chuckled as he finally got his boots and pants off and slipped on the new pair. They were roomier, definitely, but the waistband actually fit, and that’s more than could be said for his old pair. He wondered how she so accurately guessed his size.

“Are you done yet? There’s more to my grand vision, you know.”

Mac rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah. I’m done. Bossy-pants.”

Midge turned and slipped her glasses back on. She blinked cartoonishly a few times and looked him up and down. “Wow! They _do_ fit well, don’t they? I’m kinda proud of myself.”

Mac rubbed a hand over his neck and tried to chase away the burning in his cheeks. Something about her intense stare made him feel like a nervous, fidgety little boy. He didn’t get much time to dwell on it though before something else was violently tossed in his face.

“There you go. Tuck that in with your undershirt.”

Mac pulled on the rust colored sweater and scowled, “I know how to dress myself.”

“Yeah, but you’re a man. Chances are you’d just leave it untucked and look all lumpy.” She came to stand right in front of him with a brown leather jacket hooked on her finger as he begrudgingly tucked the sweater in. “That’s a good color on you. I had to patch the elbow a while back but I had a feeling Mister One-sleeve wouldn’t mind.” Mac gave a cursory glance to the blue patch over his left elbow as Midge draped the surprisingly heavy jacket over his shoulders. “That’s got ballistic weave in between the lining. And it’s shearling on the inside, so it’s warm.”

Mac got his arms through the sleeves and shrugged it on, “Where are you finding all this stuff?”

She waved a hand and plucked his scarf from where he’d tossed it on the bunk to his left. “Here and there. Army digs are everywhere around here, the sweater was mine—”

Mac frowned, “How the— How on earth was this yours? There’s no way this fit on your little toothpick body.”

She pursed her lips and tossed his scarf around his neck. He was suddenly very aware of how close she was, and her hands on either side of his neck were doing nothing to soothe the heat crawling from his stomach up his chest. “It was like...a sleep sweater. Those are allowed to be big. But it clashed with my hair, so…” She let out a satisfied little hum as she wrapped one end of the scarf around his neck and stepped back to admire her work. “Oh! And the jacket was Deacon’s.”

Mac rolled his eyes, “Great.”

She put a hand on her hip and stared shrewdly at him, furrowing her brows like if she looked hard enough his thoughts would just appear in the air surrounding him. “I don’t get you two. You’re so stupidly similar and yet—”

“We are _not._ ”

Midge threw her hands in the air and sighed, “Whatever.” She gave him another look before her face crept into that wicked smile that made him want to...well, it made him want to do a lot of things. Very bad, not professional things.

“Hm. You know, I think my masterpiece is missing a crucial piece.”

Mac slipped his belt on and started working on tying his binoculars to it, “Oh, yeah?”

“Mhm.” She batted at the bill of his hat until it fell off the back of his head and held up one of the brown leather Minutemen hats. “Tada!”

Mac laughed, “Hell yeah!”

Midge chuckled and stood on her tiptoes, fluffing his hair before perching the hat on his head. “You’re like a little boy. Getting all excited over a hat.”

Mac tried to shake away the lingering feeling of her fingers in his hair and cleared his throat. “They’re cool, alright? It’s like, the one cool thing about the Minutemen.”

Midge turned him around to face a small cracked mirror hung up on the stone wall. “Well...what do you think?”

Mac let out a barking laugh as he took in his cracked reflection. “Holy shit! You made me look like a cowboy!”

She giggled and gave him a one armed hug around his middle, “I did, didn’t I? A slightly irradiated, post-apocalyptic cowboy, but a cowboy nonetheless.”

Her arm briefly left him as she bent down to scoop something off the floor, and when she reappeared in the mirror his old hat sat on top of her head. Mac let the itch in his fingers take over and slung an arm around her shoulders.

“You look cute.”

He hadn’t really meant to say that out loud, but the pink flush in her cheeks made it absolutely worth it. “Gee, thanks. So do you.”

Mac chuckled, “Sure I do.” He rubbed a hand across his jaw and scowled, “Huh. Need a shave, though.”

“No, it...it completes the cowboy image, you know? Grizzled. Very old west.” She suddenly gasped and fished in her pocket, “Oh! I almost forgot!” She grabbed him by the collar and he was totally ready for this interaction to go in a new and exciting direction, but she just fiddled with the lining before smoothing it out again. “There. Can’t believe I forgot that.”

He looked down at the nuka grape bottle cap now pinned to his collar and cocked an eyebrow. “What’s this?”

“You’re part of my team now, silly. My crew. You’ve gotta wear my colors!”

Mac smiled softly as he looked down at her gleeful face. He could’ve said something asinine about him being pinned by his girl, and shouldn’t that be the other way around, but he didn’t. He just stared at her face, so open and earnest and...gorgeous. They were so close now, definitely due to the fact that he unconsciously inched closer in reaction to those sparkling happy eyes she was giving him, so close that if he took too deep a breath they’d be touching, and he wanted to do something really stupid. He wanted to say something about getting her to wear _his_ colors, and no, he didn’t mean the hat. He wanted to tilt her chin up and finally give in to the pull in his stomach, and the burning feeling wherever and whenever they touched. He realized she was a bit taller than he thought, the top of her head coming right to his nose. Perfect height, really. It would be so easy to finally taste those pretty lips. She’d let him. He knew she would. She may even let him take it a bit further. He knew she felt the same spark he did. Had to. He could fan that spark into a flame and watch as the fever overtook her, and _fuck_ would he love to see that.

“Uh...earth to Bobby? You still in there, tough guy?”

It was too breathless and too high pitched to break the tension like he knew she hoped it would. She was staring at him expectantly now, fidgeting like she was waiting on him to just _do it already._ Mac leaned forward only slightly, looming over her as they barely touched and he let his fingers, now twitching and buzzing with electricity, trace a small line down her wrist. She was properly staring up at him at this point, eyes gone dark and her mouth slightly open, and he could feel the tickle of her breath. This was it. This is what a moment felt like. He almost wanted to take control without warning, envelope her mouth without saying a word, but Midge was delicate. He should be delicate too, right?

“Midge, I…”

Hurried knocking echoed through the stone chamber and Mac closed his eyes and let out a breath through his nose. Honestly he almost threw a temper tantrum right then and there. Waited too fucking long. Should’ve gone with his instincts and thrown gentleness to the fucking wind and maybe they’d be entwined right now. His hand in that beautiful hair and her body pressed against the wall as he coaxed beautiful noises out of those perfect pink lips—

“Miriam? Are you in here?”

Midge cleared her throat and stepped away from him, and Mac let his fingers linger and brush against her skin as she retreated. “Yes! Yes, Preston, I’m here.”

Preston flung open the door, looking panicked and disheveled as he panted, “They’re here, Miriam.”

Mac watched as every muscle in her body tensed. “What do you mean, they’re here?”

“The small outpost outside the side path. I think...I think they’re waiting for you.”

Midge immediately rushed out the door and Mac followed, trailing behind her as she marched up a stone staircase and emerged on top of the fort. In the distance, a small slapdash shack was positioned along the winding pathway to the castle doors, and it was covered with...crows?

Miriam stared out at them, her hair whipping behind her as the salt spray ran through it. “Say hello to the pretty birdies, Mac.”

Mac scowled, feeling absolutely bewildered. He’d never seen so many crows together at one time, and Midge sounded like she was about to cry. Over...birds? Strange natural phenomena? That didn’t seem right.

“Midge, what the—”

She suddenly turned to him, a bright, totally fake smile plastered on her face even as tears threatened to spill onto her cheeks. “Mister Maccready, I believe your services are no longer required.”

Mac’s mouth fell open, “ _What?!_ You’re firing me? I thought—”

“Preston here will pay you for your fabulous work during the Quincy operation. It’s been quite a pleasure, truly. I’ll see you around, I suppose.”

She stuck out a hand and Mac shook his head, feeling more devastated than he really should be. “I don’t...I don’t get it.”

“Please shake my hand, Maccready.”

She was still smiling, but something in her eyes had changed. A silent plea rested just underneath the polite smile plastered across her lips. He took her hand and shook, and something small and cold was pressed into his palm. He took it and she released him, marching off and disappearing down the staircase. She reappeared below them, walking briskly and steadfast towards the still growing black cloud of crows. Mac looked down and flipped over the small brass key in his palm with his thumb as he tried to swallow his all-consuming anxiety.

Guess he was going to Goodneighbor.

~

It was dark by the time he made it through the gate. KL-E-0 was absent from her shop, and Daisy was just starting to close up shop, faltering and waving him over as she saw him come through the gate. Mac smiled. Sure. This he could do. Daisy was simple and uncomplicated and always happy to see him. A very welcome break from...whatever he’d gotten himself into.

He ambled over to the counter Daisy was currently wiping down and she smiled, “Hiya, kid. Where’s your girl?”

Shit. Mac _immediately_ felt his face burn. “She...she isn’t my...that’s not—”

Daisy laughed, “Relax, Bobby. Jeez, between the two of you…”

She turned away from him and started dusting off shelves, her face screwed up and her lips quirked into a mischievous expression. Goading him, obviously, and he was _obviously_ going to take the bait.

Mac sat at the stool at the end of the counter and frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean, ‘between the two of us?’”

Daisy’s eyes glittered in the low light, “Well, she was in here asking about you, of course. When you two dropped by the last time. Just as red in the face as you are right now.” 

Mac went to pull his hat down further, but fumbled when his hand hit the brim of his new Minutemen hat. That particular habit was going to need a bit of an adjustment. “Oh, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” Daisy echoed, that shit-eating grin still painted across her face. “She tried to be real sneaky about it, too. Real casual-like. But I put an end to that pretty quick.”

She chuckled a little and Mac felt a strange giddy lurch in his stomach as he frowned, “What does _that_ mean?”

Daisy hummed and leaned her elbows on the counter. “Oh, nothin’ much. She was sitting right where you are now, asked me what I thought about you. What the word around town about you was. I told her you blew in from the Capital. Told her you were an _excellent_ shot.” Mac bowed his head and twirled his hand in a small little bow and she laughed. “I also told her you were a little bit of a skirt chaser, you smug bastard.”

Mac shrugged one shoulder, “I wouldn’t go _that_ far.”

Daisy smirked. “Sure, sure. She seemed real interested in that part, though. Went all wide eyed, the little cutie pie.”

Great. No wonder she thought he was a...what’d she call it, a _tomcat._ Mac folded his arms and pouted a little. “Way to give my reputation a boost, Daisy.”

“Oh, that I did,” she mused. “Told her it was all fake, too. The tough merc act. That you’re a big softy underneath.”

“Oh, _Daisy—_ ”

“And someone just needs to get to that mushy gushy heart of yours.”

Mac let his head fall into his hands and spoke, muffled against his palms. “Daisy, you’re _killing_ me.”

She snorted, “I don’t think I am. I stood here and watched as her pupils turned into little hearts, RJ. Midge has a crush, mark my words.” She sucked her teeth, “Come to think of it, Irma owes me ten caps. She thought you’d put the moves on and sealed the deal already.”

Mac sunk a little in his seat, suddenly feeling petulant and more than a little sulky. “If only.”

Daisy gave him a pitying smile, “What, she giving you a hard time?”

“Not exactly,” he replied. In fact, if they hadn’t been so _rudely_ interrupted, he could’ve really gotten somewhere today. He was sure of it. “It’s just...complicated.” She raised a non-existent eyebrow and he sighed. “Well...you know what I’m talking about, Daisy. I’ve got...Duncan’s waiting for me back in the Capital. I’ve gotta get that cure, and I have to...it’s just...it’s just not the time to get distracted, you know?!”

He sighed and leaned his elbows onto the counter as he tossed his hat onto it and ran a hand through his hair. Daisy leaned towards him, “That never stopped you before.”

Mac shook his head. Being invited up to Hancock’s in between jobs for a little “recreational exercise” was nothing like the situation he found himself in now.

“No, no that was different,” Mac said. Daisy gave him a wry look and he stared right back. “It was! A night in Hancock’s office and...you know, I got up the next morning and it was done. No strings or...attachments or sh _—_ stuff like that. Midge isn’t _—_ ” He felt his face glow hot as soon as he let her name slip. “...she’s not like that. She’s different.”

He just barely mumbled the last part, and Daisy chuckled slightly as she reached out to ruffle his hair. “You’ve got it bad, kid.”

“I don’t _—_ ” He groaned and let his forehead fall into his hand again. “That’s the problem, Daisy.”

“Doesn’t seem like much of a problem to me,” she said. “You know how fast that girl would help you get your hands on Duncan’s cure if you just _asked?_ It’s what she does. Somebody needs help and she _—_ ”

“Absolutely _not,_ Daisy. No way would I bring her into that place.”

Daisy raised her hands up, “I’m just saying, she would—”

Mac finally looked up, “And that’s not a good thing, is it? Everyone is always asking for her help because they know she’ll give it to them. I’m not gonna…” He met Daisy’s inky black eyes, “I’m not gonna add to that, Daisy. I’m just not.”

Daisy pouted down at him and sighed, “You’re a good kid, you know. Anybody ever tell you that?”

Mac snorted, “Not really.”

“Good,” she replied. “Your head’s already three sizes too big for you.” Mac looked up and attempted the most innocent looking smile he was capable of and watched Daisy’s face melt a little. “So, what are you doing around here without her anyway? Don’t tell me you already fucked it up.”

He shook his head, “No, I...I don’t think I did. I’m here—” He stopped for a second. Why was he here? After she handed him that key and ran off to that shack, no one seemed to want to tell him what was going on. Even Preston just gave him a tight smile and walked off. So he had hightailed it out of there frustrated and confused, and now he was here. He ran a hand over the stubble across his jaw and sighed. “I think I’m...waiting.”

Daisy clapped her hands together, “Great. So you’ll be wanting the mutt.”

She whistled sharply and Mac heard something resembling an honest to goodness stampede coming from Daisy’s upstairs apartment before Dogmeat appeared. Mac grinned and patted his lap. “Hey, fleabag!”

Dogmeat barked and bolted forward, nearly knocking Mac off his stool as he wiggled and panted happily. Mac finally gave in and crouched down on the floor, earning himself a face full of fur and slobber as Dogmeat stared up at him, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, almost grinning in his own doggish way. Mac looked into his sparkling dark brown puppy eyes and felt a lump form in his throat.

~

He said his goodbye’s to Daisy and slunk off to the Memory Den, Dogmeat gleefully panting and sniffing at his heels. He entered the ruby carpeted entrance to the Memory Den and heard the small murmuring of conversation coming from inside as Dogmeat sniffed around the dusty, cobweb covered corners.

Irma was sitting primly on her fainting couch, ankles crossed as Kent Connolly sat hunched over next to her, looking pitiful and mopey as always.

“I really think it would be good for you, Kent.”

Kent sniffed a little, looking down at his hands that Irma had covered with her own. “Move away from here?! Without you, and— and without the _memory loungers?!_ Oh, I couldn’t— There’s no way I could—”

Irma grabbed his sleeve and squeezed gently on his arm, “I love you, Kent, darling, but you know being in the loungers all the time isn’t good for you! Even Amari said so, _right?_ ”

She turned pointedly to Doctor Amari, who responded without looking up from her terminal in the corner. “Use of the loungers at Kent’s frequency can and will be damaging, yes. Quitting will also cause you to go through severe withdrawals, however. Just as it is with any chemical dependency.”

Kent whimpered and let his head fall into his hands as Irma glared back at Amari. “Your delicacy is much appreciated, Doc.”

Amari just shrugged and Mac waved as he walked by. Irma gave him a long suffering smile before gasping a little and rubbing Kent’s arm. “Midge said it was a good idea a while ago, right?”

Mac faltered a little and hung back without really knowing why, and Dogmeat sat obediently at his feet. Kent rubbed his nose on his sleeve and shrugged. “Yeah, but that was before it was _real._ ”

“But Concord sounds like it’ll be lovely! And Midge knows how you feel. She’s prewar too, remember? ”

Kent nodded, “Like Mister Abominable.”

“Right,” Irma sighed, “like Mister Abominable.”

Mac chuckled a little and rolled his eyes, trudging his way up the narrow dusty staircase to Midge’s apartment. He guessed he felt for the guy and all, but _jeez_ Connolly could be a big baby. Irma always had a soft spot for him, though. Amari not so much. He was pretty sure Amari didn’t have a soft spot for anybody.

He fished the small brassy colored key out of his pocket and opened the door with a small click. Dogmeat happily bolted through the door, turning about halfway through the large room and staring back at Maccready as if waiting for him to follow. It felt odd, with the room darkened save the blueish light filtering in from the dusty windows, to be there while it was so empty. Especially when he was surrounded by her things without her actually...being there.

He stepped through the threshold and shut the door behind him. Time to...shit, what was he doing here? 

~

After going through Midge’s comic collection twice without really reading any of the words, cleaning his rifle twice, and finding out that Dogmeat knew how to shake hands, he found himself sitting on one of the folding chairs on Midge’s terrace, chain smoking while Dogmeat laid at his feet. The town was practically silent underneath him, which was pretty expected at two in the morning. The real wildcards would stumble home over the next few hours, and the rest of the town had retreated inside. Leaving the streets empty and sleepily buzzing with neon.

He glanced up at movement across the way and watched as Hancock emerged onto his own balcony, his coat and his hat gone as the frilly white shirt he always wore laid open across his chest and billowed in the slight breeze. He was smoking too, one hand on the railing and the other bringing his cigarette to his mouth. He slowly exhaled and smoke billowed into a cloud around his head, completing the picture. Mac smirked. The zombie king in all his glory.

Hancock turned his head a little and finally noticed Mac there watching. He grinned, slow and all teeth, and beckoned him over with two fingers.

Mac smiled back and sucked his teeth.

“Stay here, Dogmeat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [HANCOCK ENTERS STAGE RIGHT.]


	9. The Young Don't Cry, But Maybe They Should.

Mac waltzed across the street, squashing his spent cigarette on the concrete before going through the creaky door of the Old State House. The minute he entered he smelled cigarette smoke and spent jet wafting from the upper floor and laughed a little. Somebody’d been having a party. A few of the neighborhood watch guys gave him slight nods as he passed and made his way up the spiraling staircase, where Hancock was waiting for him at the top, leaning against the doorframe to his office and grinning smugly as Mac approached.

“I knew you’d be back, sweetheart,” he looked him up and down and whistled. “I like the new digs. Lookin’ sexy as hell.”

Mac laughed and went to push down the brim of his hat, forgetting that he’d left it at Midge’s place and running a hand through his hair instead. “Right back at you. Looks like you’ve had quite a night.”

Hancock shrugged, and put a hand between his shoulder blades, leading Mac through his office and towards the terrace. “Not too shabby.”

Mac scoffed as he walked past two girls lounging sleepily on the couch, obviously at the tail end of a jet high. _Not too shabby_ he said. Like this was just a regular weekday for most people. He recognized the brunette from that night at the Third Rail, but the pretty dark skinned girl in the frilly slip in her lap was new.

She giggled a little and blinked sleepily up at them, “ _Hi,_ Maccready.”

Shit. Well, he thought she was new anyway.

He mumbled a small hello as he realized the large men’s shirt the brunette was wearing was startlingly open and the girl he apparently knew was slowly hiking up her slip and turned away. He was no prude or anything, but it felt a little skeevy to get an eyeful from two ladies who were only really half aware he was even here.

Mac turned to Hancock and muttered in his ear, “Do I know her?”

He chuckled, and it came out as a low rumble as he pushed open the door to the balcony. “Gretchen? Yeah, you’ve met. I wouldn’t worry about not remembering, though. You were a little busy at the time.”

The corners of Mac’s lips quirked of their own free will. “Was I?”

“Uh huh,” he growled, playing a little bit with the collar of Mac’s jacket. “Had your mouth full.”

Flames suddenly licked at the bottom of Mac’s stomach and he shook his head as he looked down at his boots. “You’re insatiable, you know that?”

Hancock tugged a little harder at his jacket until he was pressed against him, “Maybe I missed you.”

Maccready laughed and nodded towards the door, “Doesn’t look like you have _room_ to miss me.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, RJ,” he pouted. “You’d like Vicky.”

“Is she the other one? Girl who’s stuck around a few weeks?”

“Oh, yeah. She’s like you, you know.” He leaned forward until Mac was pressed between him and the railing of the balcony and whispered hoarsely into his ear, “Makes a lotta noise.”

Mac shivered a little but looked down at him scoldingly, “John…”

“Nuh huh,” He pressed a single burning kiss to Mac’s jaw, “You gotta say it like you used too.”

“I’m serious!”

“So am I. Go on. ‘ _Please_ John.’ just like that.”

He willed back another small shiver and sighed, trying to give the most disapproving look he could down at Hancock, who took one look at him and...grinned? 

“Ha!” He let go of his jacket and stepped back, folding his arms. “I knew it! You and that sweet little ginger cookie are fuckin’ like bunnies aren’t you?”

Mac stuttered as his face burned and stared at Hancock, feeling totally bewildered by the sudden swing in the conversation. “We’re— What?! No! We’re not...we haven’t even…”

He tried to come up with words and failed, stopping short with a frustrated groan as Hancock leaned against the railing opposite, laughing at him. “Haven’t what? Don’t try and tell me you haven’t put the moves on RJ, I know you—”

“I haven’t!” He half yelled it, just as much defensive as he was frustrated. Hancock exhaled in a lip trill and rolled his eyes, and Mac scowled. “I _haven’t._ ”

“Nah, I saw you makin’ googly eyes at the Third Rail that night. There’s no way—”

“You mean the night you were stoned out of your gourd?”

He shrugged, “Yeah, of course I was stoned. That doesn’t mean I was fuckin’ _blind._ You like her.”

Mac folded his arms. “Who says?”

“I says. Any other day I could’ve had you on your knees by now, but instead you just looked at me like you were _cheatin’_ or somethin’.” He giggled a little and pointed a finger at him, “And _you_ haven’t told her about your kid, you naughty, _naughty_ boy.”

Mac blushed and suddenly became very interested in the laces of his boots. “I just...haven’t found the right time. I told you, we’re not...we haven’t really…” He chewed on his lip a little. “Shit— _Shoot._ ” He sighed. “I dunno, John.”

There was a small, slightly loaded moment of silence between them.

“You mean to tell me you haven’t even _tried_ to—”

Mac laughed, “For the last time, _no._ Not...not really.”

Hancock snorted, “Well, you better fuckin’ start. These dickless wonders haven’t noticed she’s a hot piece yet.”

Mac scoffed a little, giving Hancock a lopsided smile, “But you have, right?”

“ _Of course,”_ he agreed. “I’m a connoisseur. Thick layers and big glasses don’t fool me. Plus, you know what they say about quiet ones. That and a _redhead_ to boot?” He threw his head back in a heavy sigh. “Fuckin’ forget about it.”

Mac frowned to himself. He’d call Midge a lot of things, some of them in a very _specific_ scenario, but he’d never call her _quiet._ He seriously doubted he ever would. Most of the time he couldn’t get her to shut up.

But she had kind of shut down a bit when Hancock came bursting into the bar that night. Not necessarily in a standoffish kind of way, more of a...shyness, now that he thought about it. How did he not pick up on that before? She hated chems, hated being in the spotlight, and if anyone even skirted the topic of sex she totally fell apart. No wonder she didn’t know what to do with Hancock’s big, boisterous, hedonistic personality.

Almost as if he had somehow read his mind, Hancock piped back up again. “I had my eye on her when she first came here, of course. But she’s too scared of me. Poor shy violet.”

Mac smiled softly, “Scared of you, huh?”

“You betcha.” He gestured to himself, “And what’s scary about all this, huh?”

Mac scanned over his open shirt and devilishly glinting eyes and chuckled, “I have no idea.”

“Me either!” He paused for a second, staring down at the streets below. “I mean...I did stab Finn in front of her the first time she showed up—”

“You _what?!_ ”

He held his hands up in defense, “He was being a total dick! Spoutin’ all this lurid shit about her. And if I didn’t do it, the guy with her sure was going to. Or maybe Nick would’ve torn him a new one all fatherly-like.”

Mac felt his ears perk up a little. “Some guy she was with, huh?”

A knowing grin flashed across Hancock’s face and then disappeared as quickly as it came, “Yeah. Came in with Nick and some...I dunno, Merc or something and wandered around a little.” He twirled his hand, “After the show, of course.”

Mac just hummed in response, wondering who exactly the merc she showed up with was. And why he was so eager to defend her honor. Which was probably ridiculous, right? He didn’t even know her then. And even if he _had,_ it’s not like he owned her or anything. Shit. He had to get this under control. Find some sort of pressure valve for all the weird feelings swirling around in his head.

“So you’re really not gonna stick around for round two? I wasn’t kidding, I do miss seeing that body in action.”

Hancock gave him his most winning grin and Mac smiled back. Maybe that could be it. If he needed a release, this was as good as any, right? Work off his frustration with a couple girls who were _more_ than willing and maybe he would stop drooling over his boss, for shit’s sake. Or was she even his boss anymore? His friend, then. And he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t spent a few nights thinking about his time with Hancock.

But then he chanced a look over at Midge’s apartment, frowning at the worrying way he could see right through the windows, and wondered where she must be. Why she sent him here in the first place. Wondering why his stomach was tied up in knots.

They weren’t together. He had no right to think like they were. She probably wouldn’t even care if he decided to stay for what no doubt would turn out to be a night full of chems and sex. She’d just roll her eyes at him and call him depraved and move on. It wouldn’t be cheating. He wouldn’t be doing wrong by her in the least.

So why did he feel so guilty about even considering it?

Hancock ruffled his hair and snapped him out of his thoughts, chuckling and pushing him by the shoulders back inside. “You’re too cute, you know that? Lookin’ like a lovesick puppy.”

“I am not a—” The petulant scowl quickly dropped off of his face as he was met with the sight of Gretchen and Vicky enthusiastically swapping spit on Hancock’s couch. Hancock chuckled as he shepherded him out the door, apparently unbothered by the show unfolding in front of them.

“Sure you aren’t, kid.” He leaned against the doorframe as Mac stepped out the door. “Last call. Sure you don’t wanna stay?”

Girlish giggling came from inside and Mac shook his head as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Nah, I...I really should wait up for Midge.”

Hancock shook his head and tweaked Mac’s nose before he managed to bat his hand away. “Adorable. Disappointing, but adorable.” Hancock spun him around and slapped his ass, “Now get that tight ass outta my sight. Way too tempting.”

Mac heard the door slam behind him and Hancock growling out something behind it, with more tittering laughter in response. Mac chuckled and shook his head before heading down the stairs.

~

It was some time past two in the morning when he heard somebody coming up the stairs and was jolted out of his weird half-sleep with a snort. Actual, honest to goodness sleep had been all but impossible, so he had just sat himself next to a snoring Dogmeat on the couch, leg bouncing and fighting the urge to bite his nails, until he’d apparently dozed off on his hand. He squinted at his watch in the yellow light of the lamp next to him and found that it was actually five. Five in the morning. Shit.

He had his rifle in his hands by the time he heard the key in the lock and relaxed a little. It was someone with a key. That had to be her, right? There couldn’t be that many people with access to this place. 

Dogmeat barked and thumped his tail against the mattress as Midge came through the door, her feet dragging and her arms folded. Mac beamed as the dog trotted forward, sniffing her legs enthusiastically as he practically vibrated with excitement.

“Midge! You’re back! I was so— Well, I just mean everyone was acting so weird and—”

“You have your gun out.”

Mac faltered a little and looked down at his rifle. “Oh. Yeah, I...you know, I didn’t know if it was you or not.”

“Who did you think it was?”

This was...weird. She was just staring at him, her face flat and devoid of expression in the half-darkness. Mac just shrugged, “I dunno. Undesirables. Bad guys.” He turned the safety back on and put his rifle back in its spot against the wall as Midge turned on the lamp on her bedside table, illuminating the rest of the room in a soft yellow glow. His eyes fell over her and he realized she didn’t have her arms folded, she was cradling her left one.

“What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, determined to look anywhere but at him. “Nothing.”

Nope. Her voice was ragged and high pitched, and there was a slump to her shoulders that had anxiety clawing at his insides. There was something. He took a few steps towards her and she retreated, still refusing to look at him. Mac frowned, “Midge—”

“It’s fine, Mac!” She said, staring at the ceiling. “It’s fine. It’s all...fine.”

He narrowed his eyes as he felt his brain zeroed in on fixing this. Whatever this was. “What’s wrong with your arm?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re a liar.”

She shrugged, “I’ve been called worse.”

“Come here.”

“No.”

“Midge.”

“I said no.”

“Come _here_ before I come over there and get you.”

Her lip wobbled as she stared up at the ceiling, “Why do you have to be so _mean?_ ”

Mac wilted almost instantaneously and hurried to her, instantly regretting his usual bullheaded forcefulness. He held her gently by the shoulders and tried to look into her shining eyes, but she was still staring at the ceiling. “Hey! Hey, I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.” He watched a muscle in her jaw jump as she clenched her teeth and fought the urge to reach out and hold her by her cheeks. “Just...just let me see. Okay?”

She didn’t actually give him the go ahead, but she didn’t tell him no either, so he let his hand slide down her arm and gently pulled it away from where she had it tucked against her stomach. He felt a rush of white hot anger as he studied the dark purple bruising peeking out from the sleeve of her jacket, outlining the bones just under her skin. 

“Who broke your wrist?”

He was trying to keep his voice as steady as possible, but he was obviously failing because she winced. “Is it broken? I wasn’t sure.”

“ _You weren’t…?!_ ” He cut himself off and took a deep breath through his nose. “I asked you who.”

She finally looked into his eyes, and Mac felt his heart crush itself into a fine powder as tears finally spilled down her cheeks. “Please stop asking.”

Mac ground his teeth despite the twinge in his chest. It felt like anger and sadness and pity were duking it out in his stomach. “ _Why?_ ”

She sniffed, and her voice cracked and broke with badly restrained tears. “You’ll just get mad.”

“I won’t get mad.”

“You’re already mad.”

“Of course I’m…!” He looked down and shook his head. “It’s...it’s fine. That’s fine. Just...sit.”

She finally, _finally_ just followed directions and sat on the edge of the bed, sniffling and altogether looking pitiful. His hand moved to hold the top of her head and he only managed to stop it halfway, faltering in midair before he forced himself to turn towards their packs.

“You haven’t applied a stim to that, have you?” He already knew the answer was no. Her wrist was still totally swollen and her bruising was _bad._

“No.”

Typical. And yet it still sent a spike of anger through him. “Why the hell not?”

There was a pause as he pulled a stimpack out from under his pile of junk and he scolded himself. Nicer. He had to be nicer. “I couldn’t...I didn’t want the courser to know.”

“The _what?!_ ”

“Just...nothing. Forget I said it.” Her voice wobbled and Mac felt a squeeze in his shoulders. This was awful. Whatever this whole situation was supposed to be was _awful._

He kneeled at her feet and looked her up and down. “Okay. I’ll stop asking, alright?” She didn’t respond, just wordlessly stared down at her hands. Mac watched a few tears fall into her lap through her curtain of hair and struggled to keep down...whatever weird emotion that was crawling up into his throat. “Can you...just...take your jacket off, okay?”

She nodded and did as he asked, taking care not to bend her injured wrist but failing if the look on her face was any indication. He finally noticed there were specks of blood in her hair. He started to roll up her sleeve and she sniffed, “It’s okay, Mac. I can do it, you don’t have to—”

“No. Pretty sure you can’t.”

“I can. Really, it’s fine—”

“You’re left-handed. You think I’m gonna sit here and watch you fumble around with a stimpak with your right hand?” She stared at him for a second before he looked away, rubbing his thumb over the vein in her left arm. “Stretch your arm out.”

She did as he asked and he finally inserted the needle. He kept his eyes firmly trained on the stim as she spoke, “I didn’t know you knew that. I didn’t...I didn’t know you’d noticed.”

He finally emptied the syringe and watched as the swelling in her wrist deflated and the bruises slowly faded to light purples and yellows. “Of course I noticed. You think I’m some sorta idiot? You do everything with your left hand.”

“No, I...I don’t—” She sniffed, “I don’t think you’re an idiot.”

“I know, Midge. Forget about it.” He tossed the empty syringe in the trashcan in the kitchen and turned to see her staring at him, that _lethal_ pouty puppy dog face making his eyes sting. “Is it sore? I mean...of course it is, but I think I have med-x if it hurts real bad or anything—”

She shook her head, “No, I—”

“Don’t like chems.” He finished. “Right. Sorry. Almost forgot.”

“It’s okay,” she replied shakily. “Thank you.”

He shrugged, “Don’t worry about it.”

There was a small moment of awkward silence before she faintly pointed to where their packs sat against the wall. “And you brought my stuff.”

He turned to glance back and shrugged again, “Yeah, uh...Preston just kinda...handed it to me. Nobody would tell me anything, so I just, you know, brought it with me.”

She nodded, chewing on her bottom lip before burying her head in her uninjured hand, her shoulders shaking with tears. Mac’s face dropped and he rushed forward, dropping to his knees in front of her again. He racked his brain for anything to say, anything to fix this, but she spoke before he came up with anything. “I’m _so_ sorry, Bobby.”

Mac stared at her, totally bewildered. “For what? Midge, you have nothing to be—”

“Yes I do!” She fisted her hand in her hair and took shallow, shuddering breaths. “I don’t want you to be mad! And I—”

“I’m not mad,” he responded, finally giving in to his impulses and brushing her hair out of her face. “Well, yeah I’m mad, but not at you! I’m just…” he laughed, and it came out exasperated and manically resigned. “I just kinda wanna bash in the brains of whoever...you know...did all this.”

She hiccuped and the hand in her hair tightened, “ _Deacon’s_ gonna be so mad at me!”

Mac snorted, “I seriously doubt that, Midge.”

“No, he is! It was bad. That was bad...bad, bad. But I didn’t know what to do! They’d know! They’d know I was—” 

She fell forward and flung her arms around his neck and he didn’t hesitate, just wrapped his arms around her and squeezed, breathing her in. He smelled salt. The ocean.

He put his hand on the back of her neck and squeezed. “Where did you go, Midge?” 

She sniffed and tucked her face into the crook of his neck. The feel of it made his skin light up with electricity. “It’s complicated.”

“Where did you get hurt?”

She squirmed a little. She didn’t want to tell him. “Libertalia.”

Mac froze. Libertalia. She walked away from the biggest raider encampment in the fucking Commonwealth with _just_ a broken wrist. It was a wonder she didn’t get herself killed. But he couldn’t let himself get riled up again. If she even suspected he was angry about the whole thing they’d be right back to square one.

He forced himself to take a breath and rubbed slow circles across her back. “Midge, you tell me sh— stuff like this alright? I could’ve helped, I could’ve—”

“No!” She shouted and forcefully pulled back from him, “No, no, no! That’s not...that can’t happen! That’s exactly why I sent Deacon away, and now I miss him! I miss him so much, and I know it’s selfish to make you stay but I don’t wanna miss you too, Bobby, because I—” She faltered, her lip wobbling and her face flushing red. “Oh, I’m awful!”

Mac was staring at her, brow furrowed and his entire being completely baffled by her thought process. “Midge, you’re not making me do anything. I want to be here. I want to be here with you.”

“Why?!” She cried, now properly beyond upset. “I’m too much, it’s too much!”

“Why?” He echoed. He wanted to grab hold of her hands, to restrain her physically somehow as if it would stop her from spiralling into...wherever her brain was going, but he was too afraid of hurting her barely healed wrist, so his hands settled on her shoulders. “Because I care about you, dummy. That’s why.”

She tried to push his hands away but he held fast, “You don’t understand—”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I do—”

“No, you don’t! It’s _dangerous_ Maccready! I’m not gonna put you in the crossfire of all my bullshit!”

“Well, it’s not really up to you, is it?!” He didn’t really mean to yell, but he was growing more frustrated by the second. 

“Well…” She stared up at him, eyes big and glassy and just slightly hiccuping now, which he saw as a vast improvement from the meltdown she seemed to be determined to have just a few moments ago. “No, I guess not. But I...I still could’ve...I should’ve told you to get lost, and...and stay away from me but instead I decided to be _selfish_ and send you here so you could still be around—”

Mac literally rolled his eyes, “Midge, I get we haven’t known each other that long and all, but I feel like you should know by now that I’m the most contrary person on earth. If you told me to get lost I’d probably show right back up just to spite you.”

She sniffed and gave him a small smile that made his heart glow, “You would?”

“Yeah, I would.” He found himself smiling back down at her and tucked away a curl that had been stuck to her tear stained cheek with the tips of his fingers. “Of course I would.”

“Why?” she asked. “All I ever do is cry all over you.”

He chuckled slightly, “Because you’re my friend.” Suddenly his hands were on either side of her head, and he didn’t remember giving either hand permission to do that. “And I care about you.”

Her right hand snaked upwards and held onto his wrist, feeling warm and feather light. “I care about you, too.”

Her voice had gone quiet, breathy and hushed. It was doing something to him. Made him feel warm in a slightly feverish sort of way and he ached to touch more of her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she echoed. “That’s why...that’s why I can’t...I don’t wanna put a target on your back.”

He laughed a little, “There’s already a target on my back, Midge.”

“But I don’t want to make it _bigger_. Not because of me.”

One of his hands decided to let his fingers start brushing through her hair, and something deep in his stomach shifted a little as her eyes fluttered shut and she leaned her face into his steady hand. Mac let his voice drop until it was just above a whisper, “Too bad. You’re not getting rid of me.”

Her eyes opened barely halfway, as she stared at him half-scoldingly with heavily lidded eyes. “Maccready…”

Something was making him feel dangerously bold. It made him want to take a leap from here to...somewhere. Maybe it was the way she looked, just so pretty like she always did and almost sleepy looking right at this moment. Maybe it was the way she seemed to lavish in just the physical touch of his hand on her cheek and the other one just barely brushing through her hair. Maybe it was the fact that while he had been convincing her, he had also convinced himself that he wasn’t going anywhere. Not from her. He was attached to her somehow. And it had all happened without him noticing.

“Call me Bobby.”

It wasn’t a command. It was a plea. And she noticed. “What?”

“I want you to call me Bobby.”

His voice was hushed, almost strictly rumbling from his chest. Midge’s hand tightened on his wrist. “Why?” 

She asked it like she already knew why. Or she thought she knew.

“I like hearing you say it.”

He caught the way her eyes flashed to his mouth, and made no effort to hide the way his gaze kept being pulled to hers as well. He loved the way her mouth was shaped, now that he was really thinking about it. A sharp cupids bow and corners that tugged downwards into a picture perfect pout. The hand in her hair moved down her face, and he let a thumb brush across the lines of her lips.

“Bobby…”

Again, she wasn’t asking a question. She was saying it just because he asked her too. Like it was the sweetest pet name she could think of.

Mac was leaning forward before he was fully aware of it, until her breath was tickling his face. Her mouth had fallen slightly open and he could see her pink tongue nestled behind her teeth. He wanted to know what she tasted like. 

He chanced a look up at her eyes and found they looked impossibly dark, twinkling as she stared at his lips, blown wide and glassy as her pupils devoured that pretty golden brown that he liked so much. She looked hungry. Hungry like a woman starved.

He could feel heat coming off of her, static electricity waiting to be met with his own, when she stopped him.

“Maccready?”

Wrong name. He’d done something wrong. “Yeah?”

His voice came out hoarse and he wasn’t sure if he was imagining the shiver that went through her or not. “Who...who do you have waiting for you back in the Capital?”

Now. He could not _believe_ that this was coming up _now._ “What?”

She stared up at him expectantly, almost like she was scared to get an answer to her own question. “When...when you got that letter from Daisy. I asked if you had family back somewhere and you said ‘kinda.’”

Shit. There was no getting out of this one, was there? Omitting was one thing, but lying about his kid to Midge seemed...bad. Like something he wouldn’t really be able to justify to himself. Even if he had _no earthly idea_ why her brain leapfrogged to that subject _now_ of all times.

So this was it. He was just gonna have to come out and say it.

“I have a kid,” he confessed, letting it all fall out of his mouth in a rush. “I...I have a son.”

Her eyes went impossibly wide and she tilted her head, “You do?” She gasped and grabbed hold of his shoulders, “Oh my god, of _course_ you do! I knew it!”

Mac furrowed his brow, “You did?”

“Well, no, not exactly. I mean, I didn’t _know_ but I suspected…” She looked down at his bemused expression and looked a little sheepish. “You, um...you do this thing sometimes. You sway from side to side, you know, on your heels. Like you’re rocking a baby.”

“I do?”

“Mhm. All the time.” She giggled a little, “I knew you had no idea you were doing it.”

He honestly hadn’t known at all. But she noticed little things like that. Read people like they were books. He honestly couldn’t tell if it made him a little uneasy or if he was in complete awe of that kind of ability. Probably both.

“Is he...young?”

Somehow, he petulantly realized, she was out of his grasp now, and they were sitting across from each other on the floor. Still close, but not entwined anymore. He begrudgingly admitted he wanted it back.

He ran a hand through his hair and tried to will away the sore, aching feeling that always bloomed in his chest when he thought of Duncan, hundreds of miles away. “Yeah, he’s uh...he’s just about to turn three.” She gave him a glowing smile and the corners of his mouth twitched despite the strange melancholy that seemed to hang over him. “Duncan. His name’s Duncan.”

“ _Duncan_ ,” she echoed, like it was the most wonderful name she’d ever heard. He beamed at that. “That’s precious.” She grinned at him and he watched it falter a bit before she tilted her head, “If you don’t mind me asking...why...why is he there and you’re here?”

Mac winced and stared down at his lap. He hated talking about this part. “He, uh...he got sick. He is sick. He’s really, _really_ sick, and nobody there could help him.” He scoffed a little. “They were practically useless. All those stupid _fucking_ doctors. I just kept getting shrugs.”

Midge reached out and covered his hand with hers. “Bobby, I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head, unable to stop himself from finally releasing everything that he’d been keeping pent up. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him. It was just...it came on so sudden. One day he was fine, he was happy, silly, playing in the fields behind the farmhouse...just like he should be. And then…” He trailed off, sucking in a deep breath before he completely forgot how. “The next day he took a fever and broke out in these...blue boils. Wasn’t even strong enough to walk. He was just barely a toddler and—” He looked up and was taken aback by Midge’s horrified face. “Midge?”

“The Blue Flu?”

“The what?” His eyes widened in realization before he grabbed the hand she had placed on top of his in anticipation, “You know what it is?!”

But she didn’t look happy about it. Not at all. “Well...yes, but it’s...it’s not good news. It was big in my time, everyone was afraid they’d be next, but none of the news stations or papers were allowed to report on it. Not a word. I don’t…” Her lip wobbled again and he mentally willed her not to cry on him, because he’d just join her, and wouldn’t _that_ be a cluster fuck. “I don’t think they ever found a cure.”

“Well...well that’s what I came to Boston for, actually.” She looked puzzled and he continued, “I bumped into this guy, Sinclair, who claimed one of his buddies caught some kind of disease. I thought he was wasting my time until he said he broke out in those...you know, the blue boils. Says his friend got them too. And then they dug up all this information about a cure. At this place called Med-Tek Research.”

“The drug facility?”

He nodded, “Yeah,” he glanced back at his pack where all the information he had on Med-Tek was in a tightly bound journal, “I even have the buildings lock-down security codes.”

Midge frowned, “Why didn’t Sinclair break in?”

Mac’s chest tightened, “He, uh...he was going to. But his buddy died before they ever made it in.”

Midge gasped, and her injured hand flew up to cover her mouth, “And your Duncan’s just a baby…”

“Exactly,” he said, his voice starting to break and waver. “I...I don’t know how much longer he’s going to last. And, I mean, there’s no way that’s a coincidence, right? Med-Tek _has_ to be the place.”

Her eyes darted around his face as she smiled sweetly and squeezed his hand, “I think so, too. I mean what are the odds, right?”

“Exactly!” He beamed and flung one of his arms out and she giggled at his sudden excitement. “Sorry, I...you’re just the only person I’ve talked to about this who didn’t think I was totally bonkers for even trying.”

“Well, of course not! How could you not try? Even if it’s not an outright _cure_ , there’s bound to be something that could help. Or even research, or notes of some kind...I bet Curie could—” She blinked and looked back up at him, “Bobby?”

He was barely hearing anything she said. He was too excited that someone actually seemed to _understand_ him here. “Yeah?”

“You’re one of the most capable people I’ve ever met.”

Mac gave her a crooked smile, “Damn straight.”

“No, I mean—” She laughed and shook her head. “I mean if it was as easy as just...going in there and getting it, you’d have it in your hands by now. So, what’s the problem?”

Mac let out a pained laugh and ran a hand across his forehead. “Well it’s not for lack of trying.”

“It’s not?”

“No, I’ve gone into that hellhole three fuckin’ times.”

Midge’s mouth fell open as Mac scolded himself internally. “What?!”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “The cure’s supposedly locked in a high security center chamber on the basement level—”

“Because of course it is.”

“Because of _course_ it is,” he agreed, standing and moving to rifle through his pack for the tiny journal he had written everything down in. “And the whole place is totally overrun with ferals.”

“ _Oh._ ”

He winced before turning back around with the journal in his hands. He didn’t like the understanding she said it with, or the pitying undertone. It made him feel vulnerable. Exposed. “Yeah. And there’s a crap ton of floors. It’s like a maze. A maze with a ridiculous amount of security.”

She had moved from the floor back onto her bed and she sat down next to her on the edge of it. He could feel her watching him as he flipped through the pages. “ _Three times._ ”

Mac snorted, “Yeah. The last time I just about got myself killed.”

“How so?”

He chanced a glance up at her face and hurriedly looked away from her intense stare. “Well...you know I— You know I don’t like ferals.”

“Oh. Oh _no._ ”

“Yeah.” He risked another look at her and watched her eyes flit down to the notebook in his hands. He elbowed her a little and held it to his chest. “You can look but you can’t make fun of my shitty handwriting.” _Dammit._ Another one. He needed a swear jar or something.

Midge laughed and shrugged her shoulders, “It’s not that bad! I’d never even guess you grew up in a cave.”

She wiggled her eyebrows and he rolled his eyes, “Yeah, right.”

“It really isn’t. I’ve seen much worse.”

“Well, _anyway_ ,” he said, turning his attention to his notes. “It’s, uh...there’s supposed to be this drug called Prevent. Have you heard of that?”

She shook her head, “No, but like I said, no one was allowed to report on it. Just because I don’t know about it certainly doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

He nodded, worrying his bottom lip. “And— I mean you said it was a big thing back in your day, right? Did...was it a thing kids got a lot?”

She nodded again and pushed up her glasses, “Yeah, yeah it was. I mean, everyone was susceptible but children decidedly _moreso_. When I had Shaun—” She faltered and met his gaze. “That’s...he was...that was my son’s name.”

“No, I know. I mean I sort of know. I read that article. About you. Way back when.” Maccready felt a squeezing in his throat. Why did she say _was_?

“Way back when,” she echoed, chuckling darkly.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. It doesn’t bother me, I just...I hate that stupid article. Piper made me sound like some kind of hero.”

She fiddled with her glasses again and Mac shrugged. “Well, you kinda are.”

Midge was looking down at her lap again, determined not to look at him. “Sure I am.” She took a breath and looked back down at Mac’s journal. “So, Prevent, huh?” She squinted a little as she read through his notes. “ _Red syringe, locked in central laboratory in basement sublevel._ Huh. Sounds to me like you need a team.”

She was leaning on him slightly now, pressed up against his arm as she read his block letters. Mac exhaled through his nose. “You could say that again. That’s why I joined the Gunners in the first place. Which was f— which was stupid, but—”

“It wasn’t stupid,” she said, looking into his eyes again with a determined line between her brows. “And fuck them. You don’t need help from people like that. You’ve got me.”

She smiled, all good humor and reckless determination, and Maccready decided he needed to shut that shit down _fast._ “No. No way. Absolutely not.”

Her face dropped, “What?”

“ _You,_ ” he pointed a finger at her chest, “are not coming, Midge. Not a chance.”

She leaned back and folded her arms, “And why the fuck not?”

“Have you heard anything I just said?! It would be...I mean, for me to bring you there wouldn’t just be stupidly irresponsible, it would be _cruel._ ”

She stared at him for a second, looking taken aback with her mouth slightly open, and honestly seemed...hurt. 

“Glad to know you think so highly of me.”

Mac’s shoulders drooped and he shook his head, “Midge— Come on, don’t be like that. You know that’s not what I meant.”

She hopped off of the bed and paced away, putting distance between them on purpose. “No, of course not. You just don’t think I’m capable, is all.”

“ _I don’t think you’re_ —” He cut himself off again, before he started honestly shouting. “You said yourself you’re not good with close quarters combat. _You_ said that. And now I’m—”

“You’re a sniper! This isn’t your wheelhouse either!”

“I’m a sniper by _choice._ Because I think it’s smarter. That doesn’t mean I can’t—”

“Oh no, of course not. You can do _everything._ Jack of all trades. And poor, helpless Midge just needs to be sat in a corner with a dunce cap on her head before she hurts herself—”

“Fine!” He bellowed, “Come with me! And then when you’re ghoul bait I’ll get to say ‘I told you so’ and live with the guilt. Sound good?!”

He was standing now, and didn’t exactly remember when that had happened. He was honest to goodness angry too, without knowing the source of the heat that seemed to be steaming under his skin. He stared at the back of Midge’s head and felt a pang of guilt permeating his seething frustration. Too far again. He let his temper get the best of him, like _always,_ and now look at what he’d done. Mac unclenched his fists and worked on doing the same to his jaw, ready to stamp down any remaining fire and force out an apology, when Midge turned on her heels and... _smiled_ up at him.

“You know, that sounds _wonderful._ ”

And then boom. It clicked. He’d been fucking had.

“You...you—” He pointed a finger at her and she didn’t even have the decency to look even slightly ashamed. “ _You._ That’s not fair!”

“It’s plenty fair,” she said, casually shrugging like it was no big thing. “You said I could come. How’s that not fair?”

“Because, you—” He frowned and fought the urge to stomp his foot. “Oh, don’t play dumb, Miriam! Don’t...don’t do that shit.”

She folded her arms and pouted, “What _shit?_ ”

“The manipulative shit!” He yelled, tossing his arms in the air.

“Well what was I supposed to do?!” She yelled back. “You were being unreasonable!”

“ _I_ was being…?!” Mac sighed and ran a hand over his forehead, shielding his eyes in case she started with that big-eyed shit. Then he’d never be able to tell her off. “Don’t play games with me, Midge. I don’t like that.”

“...I’m sorry.”

Mac scoffed and sat down on the edge of the bed, his hand still over his eyes. “No, you aren’t.”

“I…” She stumbled over her words a little and Mac was suddenly able to feel the tension oozing off of her. When she spoke again, it was barely above a whisper. “...I’m...I’m a little bit sorry.”

Mac finally looked up, resting his chin on his hand. “Why? You got what you wanted.”

Midge couldn’t seem to keep her eyes in one place. First they were on the floor, then they would flash to his face, only to retreat to the window, the ceiling, the toes of her sneakers. She shuffled a little, drawing an invisible circle with her foot as she spoke. “Yeah, but…”

She trailed off and he raised an eyebrow. “But?”

Her eyes flicked back up to his face and she shook her head, “Just— I’m sorry, okay!? Stop looking at me like that!”

Mac kept his face perfectly neutral. Almost bored. Completely on purpose. “Like what?”

“Like that!” She practically whined it out, like a kid who’s toy had been stolen. “Just yell at me again, or...or something! I’m _sorry._ I said I’m sorry. But you were just being so—” She growled and reached her hands out, almost miming strangling him before turning back around and refusing to face him. “It’s not like I was saying to bring _just_ me along. But you wouldn’t even let me get that far! You have to be so stubborn and so, so—”

“Who else?”

She whipped her head over her shoulder, and something about the movement of her hair around her face at the sudden movement and the angle she was looking at him made him painfully aware of just how gorgeous he thought she was. She chewed on her bottom lip for a second, and that made it all _worse._

“Well...I thought it would be a good idea for you to bring Cait. I mean...she’s _incredible._ She’s a machine, she—” She shook her head, “And Curie. She specializes in contagions and vaccines and things like that, so...I mean, even if you don’t find exactly what you’re looking for there’s a large chance that Curie would be able to think of something. With all of the know-how she has and the amount of data there has to be in that place, she no doubt could...well, I don’t know. I don’t know exactly. I’m not a doctor.”

Mac stared as deep as he could into her shining eyes and found himself smiling. “And you just...came up with that. In the last few minutes.”

“Uh huh. Well...I mean, there’s a sick baby on the line, Bobby. _Your_ baby.”

She looked confused. Like what she was saying was universal truth and he should just know that she cared. Like it was obvious.

For some reason, he hadn’t quite figured it out until just now.

Maccready stood, and Midge watched him approach, wide eyed and somewhat wary. He reached out to hold her by the head, to make her look at him while he told her she was wonderful and the best friend a person could ask for and anything else he could come up with, but his hands barely came up before she flinched away. A reflex, obviously. Because then she looked at him like she was _mortified._

And he knew what that meant. Flinching when someone goes to touch you. Like they’re going to _hit you._

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t...I didn’t think you were going to...it’s just that when someone goes so quiet like that I just assume that they’re mad at me. It’s not you! I didn’t think that—”

“Stop.”

“No, I just wanted to—”

“Stop,” he said, clamping a hand over her mouth. She was apologizing for something that had been forcibly taught to her and he couldn’t stand it. A reflex ingrained in her by someone or something that he desperately wanted to kill in the most painful way possible right now. A useful positive that came from growing up in a cave full of orphans was that you started to notice things like this. When kids were dropped off who flinched from innocent hands, who seemed nervous and skittish, who felt the need to apologize for anything that went wrong around them, everybody knew what kind of home they came from. He honestly didn’t know why he hadn’t put the pieces together sooner. As a kid, it made him wonder if he got off lucky not having any parents. After all, it had to be better to not have any at all than to be raised by someone who made you think human hands were made to be weapons.

But he wasn’t going to ask. Not now. They’d been on an emotional rollercoaster since she came back, and there were dark shadows under her bloodshot eyes that meant she hadn’t slept a wink since he’d seen her last. She was tired. Probably in every sense of the word. So he wasn’t going to ask.

Not yet.

Instead he just pulled her forward and into his arms, squeezing too tight maybe, but fuck it, he was trying to put a lot of things he couldn’t say into some sort of physical action, and that’s the only way he could think to do it.

Mac squinted at the soft orangish light coming in through the filmed over windows. “Sun’s coming up.”

“Is it?”

Her voice was muffled, spoken against his shoulder. Mac smiled, “Sure enough.”

“I’ll be damned.”

“Go to sleep, Midge.”

“What, like...right here? I mean, I could probably manage it, but—”

Mac snorted and let her go, fighting the urge to pinch her for her smartass mouth. “Shut up.” His eyes fell over the cherry colored sofa at the far end of the room. “See? Dogmeat’s been asleep for ages.”

Midge turned to look, and sure enough, there was Dogmeat. Snoring peacefully despite all that had occurred in this room tonight. That morning. Whatever time it was supposed to be.

Mac rolled his eyes. Lazy dog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! I don't know about you, but I'm emotionally fucking exhausted. These two, amiright?


	10. Twerp Sweating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little switch to Deacon's POV. Bon Appetit!

The minute Deacon had seen Midge waltz into the Castle with that little twerp by her side, he’d known there was gonna be trouble.

Honestly, he’d known it the minute Midge came back from the Institute the first time. When she appeared in a flash of blue light in the middle of a corn field in some bumfuck, middle of nowhere settlement she’d chosen, nearly thrown up on his shoes, and then told him to get lost. Cried and cried and said they were watching. That they were always watching.

Honestly, it might’ve been easier if he’d just left right then like she wanted. But he’d stuck to the plan. Asked her questions just like he’d done for every suspicious new agent, (well, almost every one, dammit,) that had ever come through their many HQ’s. That’s how you caught replacements. Rapid fire questions, looking for missing spots in their memory, small details that the Institute freaks would probably overlook. Probably. 

So, he’d stuck to the plan. As had Sturges, and Tom, and Curie, and Cait. And Midge answered every single one of their questions. In between the retching into a bucket between her knees, that is.

Sturges uses petroleum jelly to slick his hair back. Tinker Tom had...has? A working theory that Deacon is a time traveler, which is totally...fair. Curie’s favorite smell is brewing hubflower tea. Cait has a birthmark shaped like a heart on her right shoulder blade, and Deacon hadn’t even had the decency to properly laugh at that. 

And of course, poor Midge had to look into Deacon’s eyes and tell him that she saw his novelty Manta Man boxers the day they took back the Castle and got soaked in that mirelurk queen’s death-dealing stomach acid. It even got her to smile a little. 

Then he’d sat there and watched as Dez pumped her for information. And he’d hated it. Midge had regurgitated every minute she’d spent in that place, and while it was probably the biggest breakthrough the Railroad had ever had, he’d dug his nails so far into his palms that he made himself bleed.

He’d wanted to fix it, that was the thing. She’d lost her son. He may not be dead, but he was gone, and no one seemed to be tripped up over that. Just got as much information out of her as they could, patted her on the back and moved on. It wasn’t fair. But then, when had life ever been fair?

He’d wanted to stick by her side, like he had been since he found her in Diamond City, but Midge wouldn’t have any of it. She told him she’d already put all of them at risk and wouldn’t keep doing it. Told Deacon she was being watched. Tracked. She said she was afraid they’d take him. _She_ was worried about _him._ And he wasn’t even worth it.

And then she’d ran off, like she always did when she felt cornered, and he’d wanted to run after her. But he didn’t. He’d tried to be smart about it all. He sent Curie and Cait her way and hoped she didn’t get herself killed before they got to her.

She dropped off the map for a while. He convinced himself that was a good thing. Then, _one word_ about the Quincy operation somehow got to her nosy little ears, and she popped right back up. With the most inconvenient of companions in towe. 

Worse still, she was smitten with the little shit. Any idiot could see that, which meant Maccready missed it completely. He was probably too busy with his own _wandering_ eyes to catch Midge staring up at him like he was _the great_ RJ Maccready and not the little brat mayor Deacon knew he still was underneath the new grizzled mercenary act. Pshaw. If only Midge knew. She even had the gall to _blush_ when Deacon had caught her practically drooling as the kid drew all over the Quincy map. 

Puppy love.

Gross.

And now here they were, rapidly approaching the fetus of New Concord like two peas in a pod, Midge wrapped up in an army green parka with the hood up against the freezing chill and Maccready in...wait a fucking minute... _Deacon’s jacket._

And boy, didn’t that stir up some weird ass feelings. It was his _old_ jacket, but still. How rude.

Deacon flipped the switch on the stealth boy on his belt and crept out from behind the oak tree he’d been pressed against as they approached and fell into step a few feet behind them, trying to match the rhythm of crunching asphalt. Mac’s head whipped over his shoulder almost immediately, and he stared right through Deacon, grumpily pouting against the wind as Midge babbled on.

“So, he just screamed it? Out of nowhere?”

“What?” Mac turned his head back around and snorted, “Oh. Yeah, he did.”

Deacon could hear the smile in Midge’s voice. “Seems like kind of an extreme reaction to a fallen alphabet block tower.”

“You’re telling me!” Mac said, and Midge threw her head back and laughed. “I thought Lucy was gonna kill me.”

“Well, if you taught my baby to say ‘fuck’ I’d probably wanna kill you too.”

“I didn’t—” Midge turned her head to look up at Maccready’s face, and Deacon knew, even with his view blocked by her hood, that she was giving Maccready that same shit-eating grin that always made Deacon want to pinch her. Mac settled for bumping at her shoulder with his elbow. “I didn’t _teach him_ to say it, he just…picked it up...somehow.”

Deacon rolled his eyes. Sure. _Somehow._ Like Maccready hadn’t known words at the tender age of fourteen that would make a sailor blush.

Deacon’s face broke into a small smile as he watched Midge hum dreamily and do that twinkling thing with her fingers in midair. He was gonna find that girl a piano, he just _had to._

“Is he cute? I bet he’s cute as a button, huh?”

Mac adjusted the brim of his militia hat before returning his hand to his rifle, “I don’t know how to answer that.” 

“Seems like a pretty simple question.”

“Well of course _I_ think he’s cute. He’s my kid.”

“Does he look like you?”

Mac thought for a second, “Yeah. I mean he looks like...yeah, he does.”

Midge giggled, “Then he’s _adorable._ ”

A flush immediately raced up Maccready’s neck as Deacon fought the urge to gag. Enough was enough. A man can only be expected to stand so much of these two. But if he just switched the stealth boy off now he was liable to get shot. Maccready was a lot of things, and a total dead shot was one of them.

Midge stuttered to a stop as the streets of Concord came into view, and she took in the Minutemen crawling through the town, carrying lumber and erecting walls and filling in gaps between buildings. General do-goodership and such. Boring.

“What the hell’s going on here?”

Deacon grinned at the perfect opportunity dropped in his lap, “Oh, haven’t you heard?”

Midge shrieked and Maccready’s rifle came up immediately, but was pointed a few feet to the left of where Deacon was standing. He switched off his stealth boy with a tiny click and Midge’s face darkened as her eyes settled on his sudden appearance.

“Oh, _Deacon!_ ”

He grinned as Mac scowled deeply and finally lowered his rifle, “I could’ve f— I could’ve _shot you_ , you creep.”

“Not where you were pointing that thing you couldn’t have,” Deacon said, gesturing to Mac’s rifle. “You might’ve hit the yield sign down the street, though.”

He felt the all too expected slug to the forearm from Midge and hissed dramatically as he clutched his arm and Mac mumbled that he ‘ _totally should’ve shot him_.’ Did it hurt? No, but he really liked to milk the whole thing. For drama’s sake. Every time she did it, in fact. Which was a lot. Maybe one day he’d take it so far she’d feel the tiniest bit guilty. Probably not.

“You—” Midge stomped her foot and growled. “You know I hate it when you do that!”

“I do. I do know that.”

She huffed a little and looked like she was about to chew him out further, but then her eyes flitted over his face and she faltered, shrinking into herself and shuffling her feet. Ah.

So she already suspected he knew about Libertalia.

Deacon kept his face perfectly neutral and faked a look around. “Say, where’s your mutt? I’ve got a handful of squirrel bits burning a hole in my pocket.”

Maccready shrugged his shoulders, looking slightly bored. “Ran after a radrabbit a few minutes ago.”

“What?!” Midge said, stomping her foot. “He just ran off and you didn’t tell me?”

Mac raised his eyebrows and leaned forward a little, unknowingly imitating his younger self so strongly that Deacon almost laughed out loud. “He’s his own man, remember? That’s what you said when I tried to stop him from rolling around in wet _garbage_.”

Midge let her head fall back and groaned as her hood slipped off of her head. “He’s gonna come back all bloody with a dead rabbit.”

Mac slung his rifle over his shoulder and folded his arms, “Well then guess who’s having rabbit for dinner?”

Midge wrinkled her nose and turned, whistling a high pitched tone with two fingers in her mouth. When there was no responding bark she worried her lip. 

“Well...now I’m all worried about where he went!”

Deacon tsked and ran a hand down to the small of her back, leading her towards the half-built gate into what was rapidly becoming an actual city. All the while fully aware of how she tensed under his touch and gleefully aware of Mac’s glowering. “I wouldn’t worry about it, babycakes.” An irritated snort escaped Maccready. “There’s nothing bigger than a radstag around here anymore. Preston and his bunch of do-gooders made sure of that.”

“They did? He did…” Midge’s eyes fell over the center of town as they walked and her mouth fell open. “ _Wow…_ ”

Mac agreed with a soft “holy shit” as they both took it all in. Deacon admitted it was pretty impressive. Just the sheer amount of people buzzing around was enough to shock anyone who passed through. Minutemen filled the place, some toting laser weapons, some carting around big carts full of junk. Two young boys were laughing as they tried and failed to break open a boarded up old door on a small, yellow brick building in the middle of the main street. The front doors of the museum of freedom were thrown wide open, and a small pile of ruined furniture, rotted wood and creepy mannequins was slowly growing in the street. Anne Hargraves gave Midge a wave as the other two members of the Charles River Trio argued animatedly as they stared at the large marquee of what used to be a movie theater.

“Are they moving in?”

Deacon gave Midge a squeeze around the waist and grinned. “Yep. Sure are. Rex and George can’t agree on whose name will be biggest on the marquee though. _Actors_ , you know.”

Midge laughed a little and Maccready groaned. “Please tell me they aren’t the same guys who do those stupid _radio plays._ ”

Deacon placed a hand over his heart and scoffed, “Some of us happen to _like_ those ‘stupid radio plays’ pal. WRVR is officially broadcasting out of New Concord and I for one couldn’t be happier about it.” He bounced his hip against Midge’s as she laughed at Maccready’s sullen pout. “So, who wants a tour?”

Midge raised her eyebrows, “You’ve been here long enough to give a tour?” 

Deacon shrugged, “I’ve been here a total of...oh...about two hours. So yeah. I would say I’m the most qualified individual here.” Before she could respond, he spun her by the shoulders and pointed towards the Museum, putting on his best radio announcer voice. “Over here I’m sure the little lady will recognize the museum of freedom, which will be the base of operations for all things Minutemen in this soon to be prosperous young settlement. To the right of that you’ll see the old church! And our mutual friend, the adorable and terrifying _Mademoiselle_ Curie is very pleased with the plans to turn it into the town clinic. Isn’t that just neat-o?”

Midge beamed, “ _Very_ neat-o.”

Deacon grabbed her head and turned it to the left of the museum, “And on this side you’ll see a bunch of little houses or whatever. For people to live in, I guess.” 

“Which is totally not your style.”

“I shudder at the very thought,” he agreed. He spun her again until she was facing down the main road. “On your right is the theatre, you know all about that, and opposite that lovely establishment will _eventually_ be a bar, so I’m told. I, for one, think they should’ve finished that first.”

Mac let out what could possibly be interpreted as a laugh as Midge looked up at Deacon scoldingly. “I’m sure you do.”

“Allow an old man his vices, would you? Moving on!” He took her by the hand and took off down the main drag, calling over his shoulder to a grumpy looking Maccready, “Keep up, kid! We’ve got a lot of ground to cover!”

Midge laughed as Deacon pointed to assorted buildings, “ _That’s_ gonna be a hotel over there on the right, the blue one with the balcony on the second floor? They weren’t very open to my naming suggestions, though.” He shrugged. “Their loss. Across from _that_ is gonna be...well you remember your old friend Arnie, right?”

Midge nodded, “Mhm. The last of the honorable vault-tec representatives.”

Deacon shrugged, “Sure, we’ll go with that.”

“The _what?_ ”

Deacon turned and raised an eyebrow in Mac’s direction, “Please sir, a tour is in progress. Well, Arnie’s opening up a general store right…” he lifted her hand to point at a brick two-story corner building with blue awnings over the windows, narrowing his eyes as they settled over the faint bruising outlining the bones of her wrist, “...there.”

“Wow. Good for Arnie.”

“Yep. Three cheers for the sad ghoul.”

A heavy, metallic clanking sound came from the ground a few feet ahead of them and Midge jumped in response to the wrench that had been tossed out of a large rectangular hole in the ground. A few seconds later, and oil-stained Sturges popped his head to the surface and grinned up at them.

“Thought I heard voices!” He nodded towards Midge and Deacon. “Shades. How you doin’ there sugar?”

Midge smiled wide and sat cheerfully on the asphalt. “Well, I’d say I’m pretty gobsmacked at the moment.”

“Now there’s a four dollar word.” He ran a dirty hand through his slicked back hair and sighed. “Pretty impressive, ain’t it? I always said if you gave people a place to call home, they’d flock to it. Protect it, too. If we’re lucky.”

“That’s a big if,” Deacon said.

Sturges pointed a large finger at him and smirked, “Pessimist.”

Deacon grinned cheekily back. “Realist, sweetheart.”

“What’d I tell you about calling me that?”

He shrugged, “Dunno. Probably wasn’t listening.”

Sturges laughed, and Deacon definitely caught the look Midge shot at him over her shoulder. “I don’t doubt that for a second.” He ran his hand through his hair again and looked up at Maccready, “Buddy, I don’t think we’ve met. Name’s Sturges.”

“Maccready.”

Both men reached out to shake the others hand, but one look at the grease stains covering Sturges’ skin had them both thinking better of it. Midge gestured animatedly to Sturges as she smiled up at Maccready. “Sturges here is a master mechanic.”

Sturges held his hands up and chuckled, “I wouldn’t go on sayin’ that. I’m pretty good at fixin’ things would probably be more accurate.”

Mac shuffled his feet a little. “Yeah, that’s...I mean, I’ve never been good at any of that stuff. Not really the hammer and nails kinda guy.”

Sturges waved a hand in the air, “Ah, well...I ain’t never been the guns and bullets kinda guy. Different strokes, right?”

 _Wow,_ Deacon had so not been listening to any of that. Which was totally not his fault. It couldn’t be helped that Sturges had ditched the overalls for an old, cherry-colored red rocket jumpsuit, and it _also_ wasn’t his fault that Sturges had unzipped it halfway down his torso, exposing the wife-beater underneath. And this man was _sweating._ It had to be at least down to freezing and there he was, glistening like he was in a skin mag. Just unfair was what it was. How much kind of sort of flirting did a guy have to do before he got in another dude’s pants? Or...coveralls, for that matter. 

“So, whatcha been doing underground then, huh? You’re looking a little...overheated, big guy.”

Sturges’ eyes flashed to him, like he knew that Deacon was thinking of all _sorts_ of ways to get him overheated, before running a hand through his hair. “Well...if you’ll remember, sugar,” he said, nodding towards Midge, “This is where that god forsaken deathclaw came crawling out of.”

Midge shuddered, “Remember? It haunts my nightmares.”

“Well,” Sturges continued, “I went to seal it back up, but then I realized the whole of Concord’s plumbing system is under here, and basically...well, I’ve basically been trying to repair all these goddamn pipes and, if I do it right, get clean water pumpin’ through ‘em again.”

Midge gasped, “Plumbing!”

Sturges grabbed her knee and squeezed, “ _Plumbing,_ sugar. Put that on a goddamn poster. With her face on it, too. You won’t have room for all the people come runnin’ here.”

Midge blushed and swatted at Sturges’ arm, and Deacon chanced a look at Maccready, who of course thought no one could see the hopeless smile on his face. Deacon fought the urge to roll his eyes. _Kids_ these days.

Sturges gestured towards the middle of town. “You seen the little field, yet? Sheffield's takin’ care of it all by himself. He’s got chickens and rabbits and two brahmin...all kinds of stuff.”

Midge wiggled a little, “And he still has Darla with him?”

Sturges chuckled and shook his head, “Yeah, _Darla’s_ still with—”

But she’d already completely abandoned the conversation and ran off, slipping through a small gap between what looked like an old bank and another group of apartments. Deacon waved his hand in the air, “And the tour continues.”

Mac rolled his eyes and trailed off in Midge’s direction. Deacon sauntered after him as Sturges called out from his spot halfway beneath the asphalt.

“You need anything else from me, I’m set up in that old garage. The one by the main gate.”

Deacon stopped in his tracks and grinned. “And what on earth could I possibly need from you, huh big guy?”

“Well...if you ever need that...geiger counter fixed.” Alright. Shop talk. Railroad agent and a synth. _Boring._ “Or...somethin’ else.”

Ah, it was that _something else_ that he liked to hear. Deacon shot a look over his shoulder and found Sturges with his teeth sunk into his lower lip. Curse that sexy bastard. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I know where to find you.”

He turned back and found Mac was waiting by the crumbling brick wall of the bank as Deacon approached, one eyebrow raised. “Really?”

Deacon made a face back. “Really what?”

“You don’t honestly think she didn’t notice all that, right?”

He shrugged, “Who said I care if she noticed?”

Maccready rolled his eyes and slipped into the small patch of green behind the buildings, and Deacon followed suit. It was a small farming patch, with a large chicken coop, a small hutch for the rabbits, and a slightly rickety looking lean-to for the pair of brahmin. Midge was on the ground, enthusiastically scratching the belly of Darla the rottweiler while Sheffield spread razorgrain across the ground for the chickens. Mac badly concealed a smile as Midge grinned up at them. 

“Dogmeat better get over here before he misses his girlfriend! She’s a restless spirit, I can tell.”

Deacon sucked his teeth, “Goin’ steady, huh Darla? I’d be careful if I was you. I hear Dogmeat’s a real heartbreaker.”

Midge cupped the dogs head in her hands and squished her loose jowls. “Yeah, me too. Bet he’s got litters all across the commonwealth, you know. Always _chasing some tail._ ” She laughed at her own joke before kissing the dog’s nose and getting to her feet. “Well...uh, it’s been really wonderful to see everything and all, but I really think we ought to get going on to Sanctuary. I radioed Cait and Curie this morning and—”

Oh, she thought he’d been distracted, huh? No, no, no. They were still having their little chat. “Actually, Smidgen, we’ve gotta have a conversation, you and I.” He put an arm around her shoulders and led her back to the main streets as he shot a look at Maccready over his shoulder and grinned, “Shoptalk, you understand. Real hush hush.” He turned back towards Midge and squeezed her shoulders, “So I’m gonna need you to get rid of your puppy dog for a few, alright?”

Midge wasn’t comforted by his toothy grin, as she shouldn’t be. Mac’s face had gone completely sour as well. 

“Excuse you? I am not a—”

“Mac!” Midge piped up, “Could I talk to you for a second?”

Maccready grew ever redder in the face but followed Midge a few feet away anyway. Deacon didn’t bother trying to catch the conversation. This was gonna go his way no matter what, really. Mac put up a decent fight, shrugging his shoulders and folding his arms and generally posturing like a spoiled brat, but Midge won the battle. Pulled the begging puppy face and Mac folded like a cheap lawn chair. Amateur. 

He stomped off towards Sanctuary, glaring daggers at Deacon over his shoulder the whole way, as Midge shuffled over, looking like a kicked puppy. Damn. She really _did_ think she was in deep shit.

Midge shuffled her feet and tentatively looked up at his face with wide eyes, “You know, uh...he’s not your biggest fan, Deaks.”

Deacon laughed and booped her nose, “I noticed.”

He grabbed her by the waist and took off towards the museum, making as big a show as humanly possible of squeezing her hip before she squirmed and wrinkled her nose. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Deacon smiled and looked straight ahead. “Making a certain mercenary _veeery_ angry.”

Midge sputtered and blushed a deep red as she shoved him away, “What?! In what— Why would he care if you—”

“Don’t even try it, Midge. Nobody’s _that_ obtuse. Not even you.”

Deacon saw her lower lip wobble in his peripherals as she stared up at his face. “You really are mad at me, aren’t you?”

Goddamn it. Deacon tried to shove off the small twinge of guilt in his chest and cursed the passage of time. That had to be it. Getting old meant getting soft, apparently. So soft that a skinny little girl could give him sad eyes and he wanted to abandon getting any sort of intel altogether. You know, his _literal_ job.

“Not here,” he said, practically shoving her into a small, nearly dilapidated brick building. But hey, at least it had a door. 

Midge immediately sneezed in response to the thick dust covering everything on the inside of the small room. It wasn’t much. A few crates, a desk that looked like it might collapse spontaneously, and papers strewn across the floor. Deacon leaned against the wall opposite the door, letting the silence permeate through the air as Midge fidgeted. She hated silence. 

He let her stew a bit longer, falling into the big, scary interrogator role before finally speaking, “So, rumor has it—” 

“I’m sorry, okay!?” She blurted it out, as though she couldn’t hold it in any longer. Deacon fought back a wince at the volume. “I didn’t know what to do! The crows showed up at the castle and then as soon as I was out of sight, _boom_ , they beamed me up and then they told me about libertalia and then they said it was a _synth reclamation_ and I panicked! I was completely _panicking_ and they teleported me right in front of the damn thing and I had to speak to a _courser_ and I felt so _dirty_ and he was killing like it was nothing and it was absolutely terrifying and I thought maybe I should just shoot the poor man instead of letting him go back to that awful place but the courser had already—” She choked on a sob and frowned as she roughy wiped the tears from her cheek, like she hadn't realized she had started crying. “The courser had already said the...said the recall code. I didn’t mean to help a courser take a synth back to the Institute, it just...what was I supposed to do?!”

Deacon kept his face perfectly neutral, because she hated that, too. “Is that all?”

She sniffed and nodded, “Uh huh.”

 _Liar_ , Deacon thought as he slowly stepped forward. Midge’s eyes went impossibly wide as he invaded her space and he grabbed her left arm and pulled the sleeve up to her elbow in one quick motion, holding up her purple wrist and raising one eyebrow. “Then what the hell is this?”

Her anxious expression twisted and flushed with anger as she pulled uselessly against his grip. “Well, first of all, _ow_ —”

“Thought you were gonna get away with not telling me the whole story, did you?”

“No! No, I— I just didn’t think it was important!”

Deacon kept his face dark and serious, “ _Everything’s important._ ”

She stomped her foot, “You’re such a fucking hypocrite!”

He shrugged, “I’ve been called worse.” He jostled the arm he still had a slightly too tight grip on and put a hand on his hip, “So, how did this happen?”

“It was…” She was still trying to fight against the hold he had on her, which was completely in vain and quite obviously painful. “It was one of the raiders, okay! He got the drop on me, and I heard it snap but I wasn’t sure...I mean, I didn’t think it was _broken,_ but then Mac said—” Her face blushed pink and she shook her head. “He told me I broke it. Or the raider broke it, anyway.”

How she _couldn’t know_ that a man had broken her wrist was beyond him, but whatever. “How did you get through the rest of libertalia without your hand?”

Midge lifted her chin, “With extreme, incredible skill?” Deacon quirked an eyebrow and she sighed. “Very poorly. Turns out I really, _really_ can’t shoot straight with my right hand.”

“You can’t shoot straight with your left, either.” 

“Hey!” Deacon chuckled and kissed her hand, letting his dark and stormy persona fall away, and Midge’s face faltered in response. “Are you...you’re not angry with me?”

Deacon grinned, “Me? _Please._ How could I be mad at you?”

“Then what…” She sputtered and furrowed her brow, “What was with your spooky silence routine?! And your scary stormcloud face?! And you grabbed my arm _hard_ —” He watched with amusement as something clicked behind her eyes and her mouth melted into a scowl. “...You little bitch.”

Deacon shrugged, “You talk faster when you’re scared.” A sudden, sharp sting erupted across his face and he laughed, “Did you just _slap me??_ ”

And she wasn’t done. Every word she spoke was punctuated with a slug to his arm, or his shoulder, or his chest. “I! Have! Been! Worried! About! This! Since! _Yesterday!_ ” She growled and tried to shove him backwards. “Stop laughing at me!”

His laughter didn’t relent, “I can’t! It’s too cute, really. It’s like watching a baby curse.”

She slunk off to the corner of the room and sat down heavily on the floor. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Try me.”

Deacon stuck out his bottom lip, “Who could hate a face like this?”

“Try. Me.”

He threw his head back in a heavy sigh, “Alright, pouty. I’m sorry.”

“You are not.”

“Am too.”

“Are—” Her face flashed from grumpy to a strange, skittish look that was once reserved for baby radstags and Deacon frowned.

“What was that face? I don’t like that face.”

“I— Nothing. It’s nothing.” She tugged at the long braid that had been laying across her back and ran her fingers through the ends of it. Deacon smirked. Too easy.

“Your hair looks pretty like that.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

He chuckled, “No, really. I like it.” He folded his arms and let a smug smile take over his face. “Who did it?”

Bingo. She looked up at him, startled, and shook her head. “What?”

“You heard me.”

A blush that could only be described as _glowing_ red painted her entire face as she mumbled. “Bobby— Maccready did it.” She shook her head again and pressed her hands to her overheated face. “Are you sure you’re not mad?”

“Nope.”

“Perturbed?”

“Nope.”

“Not even mildly disgruntled?”

Deacon laughed, “Midge, when have I ever been mad at you?”

She flung her hand out and raised her shoulders to her ears, “I don’t know! You have to have been mad at me at some point. I’m very good at making people angry.” Her lips curled into a wicked smile as her left eyebrow twitched up, “Maybe you’re sweet on me just like Drummer Boy says.”

Deacon blew a lazy raspberry and rolled his eyes, “He only says that because _he’s_ the one that’s sweet on you. How many times do I have to tell you that you physically repel me?”

She let her knees drop and her legs flopped childishly on the floor. “How many times do I have to say ‘right backatcha?’”

He hoisted himself up on the worryingly creaking desk behind him and shrugged his shoulders, “Oh, please. You know you want a piece of this, babe. I know it, you know it, everybody knows it.”

Midge almost went to laugh but faltered a little, her face falling into a strange and distant contemplation before she spoke again, staring at his shoulders instead of his face. Uh oh.

“Do you...I mean, I’ve just been wondering...do you think—” She growled and shook her head. “I’m just trying to…” She sighed, “I mean why _didn’t_ anything ever happen between us?”

Deacon had to fight very hard to make sure his mouth didn’t fall open. And that he didn’t choke on his own spit. His stomach had abandoned him altogether anyway, just did straight-up somersault and dropped right out of his ass. Time for a joke, time for a joke, time for a joke…

“Because we both know I’m a ride you wouldn’t survive, sweetheart.”

She let out a surprised bark of laughter and clapped a hand over her mouth, “No, I...yes, agreed, but—”

“I would break you. Mind, body and soul.”

Another childish snort interrupted her loud laughter, “No, for sure, I just mean—”

“Emphasis on the body part. Your twiggy ass couldn’t _handle_ what I’m packin’, babe.”

“Deacon!!” She squealed, wiping tears from her eyes as her shoulders shook with laughter, “I get the point, buddy.”

He smiled, wide and stupid despite the anxiety currently knawing on his guts like a rabid fuckin’ _dog._ “Just makin’ sure I drive the point home. Now please explain why the _hell_ you’re asking.”

“I just—” Another giggle interrupted her, “I mean, we were constantly together, right? For a long time.”

Deacon’s eyebrows knit themselves together. “Uh huh.”

Midge studied his face and blew out a breath in a lip trill, “Well gee, Deaks. You don’t have to look so scared about it, shit.”

He raised his hands in surrender, “I’m not! I’m perfectly...perfectly comfortable with this conversation.” He dropped his hands and tried to keep his posture loose and casual. “Are you saying…” God, why was this so hard? Like pulling fucking teeth. He was pretty sure his stomach was eating itself. “Did you... _want_ something to happen?”

Midge wrinkled her nose, “What? Of course not.” She clapped a hand over her mouth and snorted, “That came out wrong.”

Deacon shrugged, “No, fine by me. Tall, broad, and handsome isn’t your style. Don’t you worry about it, babe.”

Midge sighed and stood up, dragging her feet over to him and hopping up on the desk before plopping her forehead on his shoulder. Deacon chuckled a little, “Uh...hi.”

Another comical sigh left her, “I think I’m a horrible person.”

“That’s a fair assumption.” She whined and he shrugged the shoulder her head was resting on. “What the hell are you talking about?”

She turned her head and stared deep into his shades. “Can you take the glasses off?” He let out a long suffering sigh and she gave him a small smile. “Please?”

He rolled his eyes, “The things I do for you, kid.” He lazily tore the shades from his face and looked down at her with one eyebrow raised. “What do you want?”

The first thing Deacon had ever thought upon meeting her, unfrozen that is, was that she had to be the saddest looking person he’d ever seen. Those dark brown eyes just seemed to have tragedy swimming just behind them, and even the structure of her face lent itself to a resting sadness. It was the thing that made him swoop in and intercept her in Diamond City, instead of patiently waiting for her and the Railroad’s path to cross on their own. That and he really didn’t think she’d live long enough for that to happen. Sometimes that same thought circled back to the front of his brain, suddenly and without warning, and shook him up a little. Now was one of those times. 

“Deacon…” She said, hushed and pitiful. “Nate died five months ago.”

He shook his head, “No. He didn’t.”

“But to _me_...to me he did. So, how could I—” She sniffed and rubbed her cheek against the sleeve of his sweater. “I’m thinking things that I shouldn’t. I’m _feeling_ things that I shouldn’t.”

He felt sort of bad about it, but a tense breath that had previously been chained up in his lungs finally left him. This wasn’t about _him._ It was about the damn Maccready kid. Thank god.

But damn, this was a whole new problem, wasn’t it?

“That doesn’t make you bad, Midge.” _A little stupid, and definitely naive, but not bad._ “It just makes you a human person.”

Midge sniffed, “Gross.”

“I know.”

“I hate people.”

“Sure you do.”

She giggled a little, and the tips of her fingers brushed against the small surgery scar hidden near his ear. Deacon’s body tensed of its own volition. “Can you keep this face? I like this one.”

He smiled and went to bite at her fingers as she snickered. “We blow up the Institute, I’ll keep it as long as you want.”

“Really?”

He sighed, “Sure.”

“Yay.” She sniffed and finally hopped off the desk, and Deacon hated the way his body finally relaxed. His stupid brain never let him have nice things. Midge rubbed her nose on her sleeve and carefully arranged her face back into a bright smile. “Okay! I really do have to go now. I’m going on a crusade for good today and I can’t be late.”

“A crusade for good, huh?” He put his glasses back on and smiled, “How nice.”

“Mhm,” she said brightly. “And I’m sure you already knew about Bobby’s kid and decided _not_ to tell me, so I won’t bother explaining.”

Her nose was turned up and her arms were folded as she stood in front of him, and Deacon smiled. “I can neither confirm nor deny.”

Midge pursed her lips and stared shrewdly into his shades. “I just realized I forgot to ask.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Ask what?”

Her eyes narrowed further, “Have _you_ ever thought about us together?”

Deacon scoffed, “Given that I’m old enough to be your father, no, I have not.” _Eh. Once or twice, yeah. Because I am a man and therefore depraved._ “Also, two gingers together? No thank you. Borders on incestuous.”

Midge seemed satisfied and turned towards the door. “You never have told me how old you are, you know.”

He stepped behind her and opened the door over her head with a bit of force. Damn thing was ancient. “I just told you.”

Midge groaned and stepped out onto the street. “That doesn’t _count._ ”

Deacon chuckled, “Sure it does.”

~

Maccready tapped his fingertips against the countertop of Cait and Curie’s self-proclaimed temporary Sanctuary bungalow. He and Cait had both tuned out whatever complicated science talk Curie was spouting from her seat on top of the same counter, and his mind, like it did so often recently, wandered to Midge. That creep better be going as easy as _possible_ on her. He totally didn’t understand what had her so worried about that dick’s opinion, but since she was, he was gonna be too. And what was with his wandering hands, huh? Grabbing her and squeezing her and whatever. They weren’t together. There was no way. So he shouldn’t be feeling her up like he was. Just made him look creepy. 

Curie slapping her hand on the countertop in the middle of an impassioned rant roused both him and Cait out of their stupor. They both shared a look before Cait shrugged and plopped her jaw back into her hand and Maccready sighed. He couldn’t even remember how this conversion got so far away from the both of them. He just noted to never bring up mutfruit in front of Curie ever again. Never, ever again.

The front door creaked and both him and Cait violently turned to see Midge walked through, followed closely by _Deacon_ because of fucking course. Cait grinned toothily and pounded her fist on the table so hard it shook Curie’s mug of hubflower tea.

“Midge! Thank fucking atom, let’s get this dog and pony show on the road, yeah?”

Midge giggled, and Mac couldn’t help but notice that she couldn’t keep her eyes fixed on Cait’s face. They just kept drifting over his way. “You’re an eager beaver this morning.”

“Sure as shite,” Cait said before pointing a finger and Deacon. “And you. Lovely of you to show up. Means you can get your damn _cat_ outta my _closet._ ”

Deacon gasped, “Are you two being mean to her? She’s a very delicate lady, you know.”

Curie scoffed, “Us? Monsieur Deacon, you must be joking! That cat of yours is a menace!”

Deacon put on his stupid movie star smile and strode lazily over to Curie’s spot on the counter. Mac tried to burn holes in his skull as he passed by his stool.

“Curie, what have I told you about calling me that?”

He placed his hands on either side of her lap and Curie tsked as she blushed pink, “What would you have me call you?”

Deacon wiggled his eyebrows, “Yours.” 

Curie tsked again and pushed him away and he took it in stride, strutting down the hallway with Cait towards her bedroom like he owned the fucking place. Curie sighed and shook her head. “L'esbroufe. I must go collect my things.”

And with that, she hopped off the counter and dashed down the hallway as well. Mac smiled as he watched Midge finally approach and stop in front of him, bouncing a little on her heels. 

“So, prince charming isn’t mad at you?”

Midge snorted, “Prince charming? You must be thinking of someone else.” She grinned and Mac smiled back. “No, I’m just excited.”

Mac scratched the stubble on his jaw, “Midge, I...there isn’t much to be excited about. It’s a pretty grim place.”

She sat down on Cait’s stool and lightly elbowed him. “Yeah, but we’re gonna get that cure. Or something close to it. Something good is gonna come of this day, by god!” They both laughed before Midge reached out and grabbed his wrist, “Oh! I almost forgot!” She unzipped her parka and pulled his old hat out of it. “I never gave you your hat back. So many things are happening, you know.”

Mac smirked and took it from her hands before reaching across the counter and placing it on top of her head, “Nah, you should keep it. I already said you look cute in it.”

Her cheeks went a little pink, “Oh. Maybe hats with bullets tucked into them will be the new thing for 2288, what do you think?”

He put his chin in his hand and kept his eyes locked on hers, “If you’re wearing them? Probably.”

Midge didn’t get a chance to respond before Deacon, Cait and Curie made their return. Cait and Curie looking ready to go and Deacon holding one of the ugliest cat’s Maccready had ever seen.

“Would you believe it, Smidgen? Keeping poor Birma locked up in a _closet_ of all things.”

Deacon pouted and kissed the cat’s mottled black and brown fur as Cait stared with her nose wrinkled. “I didn’t want the damn thing biting my ankles!”

Deacon gasped, “She would never!”

Birma hissed at Curie over Deacon’s shoulder, and she stared deep into the cat’s yellow eyes. “Absolute _menace._ ”

Maccready tilted his head, “Why’s her face all smushed?” 

“Because she’s a noble breed, _Maccready._ Jeez. You people don’t know how to treat a lady.” Mac rolled his eyes as Deacon finally opened the front door and set Birma outside, who immediately sped off. “Be free, darling. Go break some hearts.” He turned around and planted his hands on his hips, “As for you four, don’t you have somewhere to be? Something to do other than terrorizing my _angel?_ ”

Midge laughed, “Birma’s not an angel, she’s a _demon._ ”

“How dare you, young lady! I thought you were an animal lover?” 

Midge raised an eyebrow, “I can love her and still recognize the fact that she’s a total bitch.”

Deacon seemed to carefully consider and then nodded. “Touche. Now! Outta here, all of you. It’s almost ten o’clock for goodness’ sake!” He shuffled Curie, Cait and Midge out the door, but the minute Mac crossed the threshold an arm snaked around his shoulders. 

“As for you, pal—”

“I’m not your pal.”

“I think you and I need to have a conversation.”

Mac kept his eyes firmly trained ahead trailing just a few feet behind Curie, Cait and Midge, who were now thoroughly locked in conversation. “I don’t really think we do.”

Deacon chuckled darkly, “No, we do. See, Midge is a nice girl. A real nice girl.”

Mac narrowed his eyes but refused to look at him, “Your point?”

“Oh, you know. Just making sure you know that dear Miriam is not one of you or the _mayor’s_ little playthings, alright? And as long as you _continue_ to know that you can keep all your original parts. Isn’t that nice?”

Mac felt his temper start to rise and knew his ears must be burning red by now. “Is that a threat?”

Deacon chuckled in a way that had all of the hairs on Macs neck standing up. “You’re cute, kid. I mean look at you, little Maccready’s already been pinned.” He fiddled with the nuka-cola grape cap on the collar of his jacket and Mac shrugged his hands away. “Anyway, I wouldn’t call it a _threat,_ just as long as you keep your hands where they belong.”

Mac stared deep into the unreadable shades and let his face creep into a smug smirk. “You know what? You’re right. It doesn’t really sound like a threat. Sounds like you’re just _jealous_ to me.”

Deacon laughed and clapped Mac on the shoulder, “Jealous? Aw, now that’s _real_ cute. Now, I’ve got other pressing engagements, pipsqueak, and I think I’ve made my point _quite_ clear, so you kids have fun, alright? Best of luck. Poor Duncan’s been too sick for too long.”

The smile vanished from Mac’s face as ice cold dread settled in his stomach. He grabbed Deacon’s arm as he went to turn away and growled, “How the hell do you know my son’s name?”

Deacon smiled wickedly, “Oh, squirt. I know everything about you.” 

Deacon waved over Mac’s shoulder, and he turned to find all three of the girls waiting at the bridge, watching them. Mac let go of Deacon’s arm with a shove and stomped off without another word. Wasn’t worth it anyway. Wasn’t worth the breath it would take to—

“What was that, some sorta lover’s spat?” Cait said, grinning like a shark. Curie tsked and swatted at her arm.

Mac’s eyes settled on Midge’s apologetic gaze and he scoffed. “With him? Not a chance. That dick couldn’t land me in a million years.”

Midge gave him a small smile as Cait guffawed. “He could land me, that’s for damn sure. Fine piece of meat, that is.”

Mac rolled his eyes and readied his rifle. Whatever that asshole had going for him, Mac sure as shit couldn't see it. “I’ll take point.”

Curie bounced happily and readied her laser rifle, and Cait did the same with one of the coolest power-fists he’d ever seen as he strode forward and Midge fell into step at his elbow.

“What did he say?”

The long-suffering, apologetic way she said it was almost enough to make him laugh. He smirked and looked down at her, “A bunch of bullshit.”

“Oh. So nothing out of the ordinary.”

That did manage to get a small laugh out of him, but it was quickly squashed by the squirming feeling deep in his stomach. “Did you, uh...did you tell him Duncan’s name?”

She shook her head, “No.”

Mac felt his frown deepen as he adjusted his grip on his rifle. He didn’t like that. Didn’t like it one bit. 

He felt a hand on his arm and looked down at Midge’s smiling face. “Hey, Bobby?”

“Yeah?”

“Fourth time’s the charm.”

Mac smiled softly and tried to quell the nervous energy bubbling in his chest. It had to be. It just had to be.

“It sure is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deacon's a little shit. 
> 
> And for those of you that are missing the Midge and Maccready action, not to fear, they'll be back in full force next chapter. 😘
> 
> P.S. Really love the Midge and Deacon dynamic of Deacon being a manipulative little asshole (as per usual) and Midge beating his ass. Or at least trying to, lol. It happens a lot. 😉


	11. Bad Wine But Better Pie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look this took me a month to write for some unknown reason so if you find any mistakes it's totally not my fault but yes I *did* get burned out trying to edit. :) 
> 
> Happy reading! 💕

“Looks like a right fuckin’ dump to me.”

MacCready stared at the imposing structure of the Med-Tek building and silently agreed with Cait. The rust and chipped paint reflected the horror and decay of the inside, even if they didn’t know it yet. Even Dogmeat, who managed to join them just past the red rocket station with not one but _two_ rabbits in towe, bristled with anxiety, whining and nosing at Midge’s hand.

Curie narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips in determination, “You said it was populated mainly by feral ghouls, Monsieur MacCready?”

Mac nodded. “Yeah. Just ferals. Loads of them.” He turned and lightly elbowed her, “You can call me Mac, by the way.”

Curie sighed. “Mon dieu. So informal.”

Cait sniffed and squared her bare shoulders. “Right. Let’s fuck up some ghouls, yeah?”

And with that, Cait slid open the metal doors with a loud grinding sound and stomped forward. The three of them followed her into what once was the reception area, now covered with dust and splattered in places with a strange slime. Cait readied her powerfist as Mac shuddered. Fuck, he hated ferals.

There was a tug on his sleeve and he looked down to see Midge, eyes sparkling in the low light behind her glasses. 

“You ready?”

Mac smirked, “As I’ll ever be.”

Midge grinned and punched his arm, “Atta boy. And don’t worry, you freak out again and I’ve got a plethora of embarrassing stories from my childhood.”

He elbowed her back as she chuckled. “Yeah, I bet you do.”

Cait hollered from further along down a hallway, “Would you two fucks keep up? Some of us have a bloodlust to satisfy.”

~

Turns out, Lucy was right. Had always been right. Like she always was.

Because it was kind of hard to deny right now that his whole...what had she called it? His stubborn, _have to do everything myself because anyone else will do it wrong,_ streak probably did him more harm than good. 

Cait and Dogmeat turned out to be a sort of deadly dynamic duo, mowing through ghouls together like they were nothing but corn stalks. It was somehow easier to swallow that cold, constricting feeling in his throat after watching Cait punch a hole straight through a feral’s ribcage. Was it disgusting? Totally. But watching Midge turn green and Curie mutter something about antibacterial almost had him laughing. Almost.

But then they made it through the airlock, after struggling through the hordes of ghouls in the main offices that is, and that invisible choke-hold on his throat was back. It was colder beyond those doors, just cold enough to make the hairs on his neck stand on end, and that, coupled with the smell of Curie’s laser-fire, and the low, guttural growling that seemed to echo and reverberate off the rusting metal walls, and the decay that hung in the air like black smoke, all seemed to rouse an instinct in his brain that simply said _run._

Because that’s what she said. The last thing she ever said.

_Run. Take Duncan and run._

So, maybe that was the reason that, for the first time since he’d known her, Midge got a shot off before he did. 

And _actually_ hit home.

Mac tore his eyes away from the feral that had crumpled to the ground with much less of a face than he had a few moments ago and gaped at Midge, just a few feet behind him with her pistol drawn, Dogmeat just behind her with his haunches raised.

“Was that _you?_ ”

Midge’s face twisted into the most obnoxious smirk she was capable of as she planted a hand on her hip, “I’m not totally useless, you know. Sometimes I even shoot straight.”

“Sometimes is a stretch.”

“Shut up, Cait.”

Mac let out a laugh that revealed way too much of the anxiety bouncing around his insides and winced. Midge’s face fell a little as she stepped forward, Dogmeat clinging to her side.

“You doin’ okay, tough guy?”

MacCready shrugged. “Fine.”

Midge gave him a soft smile that he couldn’t look directly at. “You sure? Because I’ve got a story about a torn prom dress that...actually, nevermind. That one gets a little dark.”

“Oh, Cait!” Cure tsked, examining a small cut on Cait’s bicep. “How many times must I strongly suggest you wear sleeves?!”

Cait gave Curie a flat look and flexed. “Nah, I couldn’t deprive the world of the muscles the sleeves would cover.” She looked up at MacCready and nodded, “Is there much farther to go? Curie’s gettin’ cranky.”

Curie rolled her eyes and folded her arms, “I am not!”

Mac looked over at the familiar decrepit landing connected to a rusty flight of stairs. “The basement level is just down those stairs. But…” He ran a hand across the back of his neck, “They move in hordes down there. And it’s dark.” 

_And it feels like the walls close in around you. And it feels like you’ll never actually reach the end of the hallway. And—_

Cait shed her powerfist with a loud clanking as it hit the floor and fished a sawed-off shotgun from the pack on Curie’s shoulders as Midge switched on the flashlight on her pip-boy. Cait loaded two rounds and clapped the action shut.

“So, you’re saying don’t miss?”

Mac’s face split into a smile. Thank god for Cait.

“Not if you can help it.”

She ran her tongue along her front teeth as her face split into a predator’s smile. “Right. I go in first. You—” She pointed to MacCready, “behind me on the right.”

Mac rolled his shoulders, “I dunno, Cait—”

She held up a hand, “Trust me, hawkeyes. Let an addict work off her frustrations, alright? You take the right and Dogmeat will take the left.”

Mac looked down at Dogmeat, watching with slight amusement as he happily panted with his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth. “He will?”

“He always does.” Cait strode towards the stairs and clicked her tongue, and sure enough, Dogmeat took up by her left side. She looked back and pointed two fingers at Curie and Midge. “You two stay outta the way of the professionals, you got me?”

“Bite me.”

“ _Oui!_ I second Miriam’s sentiment!”

Cait smiled, “Aw, wind your neck in, the both of you. Me and the sharpshooter have a good bit of fun waitin’ for us.” She nodded over to Mac, “You ready, fine thing?”

_Not even a little._

Mac managed a smirk, “Always.”

~

This was the worst part of it. It had been the last three times he’d tried this. This exact hallway was where he’d nearly gotten himself killed the last time. And the thought of his close call as feral jerky was almost as frightening as a shotgun blast in a very narrow and very metallic hallway. They could all thank Cait for that.

Cait laughed maniacally as three ferals were blasted backwards by the spread of her shotgun. “Now we’re suckin’ diesel! Take that ya rotten fuckin’ bastards!”

MacCready stayed busy picking off the ferals that flung themselves a little too far to the right of Cait’s shotgun with headshots that were surprisingly clean. He could feel himself shaking. Sweating despite the temperature. Dogmeat was pinning down ferals by the throat and Cait was acting like a one-woman hurricane and MacCready could feel himself slipping. Slipping down a long, dark tunnel. 

He was panicking, and he was closer to the goal than he’d ever gotten before.

MacCready shoved off a particularly putrid ghoul that had gotten a little too close, cracking the butt of his rifle against it’s melted, mottled face just to stop that disgusting growling that Mac met with a growl of his own.

“Shut _up!_ ”

Cait laughed and took a shot at the feral she had pinned to the floor with her boot, “You tell the filthy thing, Mac!”

Dogmeat barked just ahead, pawing at a large pair of sliding metal doors and whining restlessly. Mac was alarmed to find the hall was empty. Or it seemed to be, anyway. Ferals had a way of hiding in plain sight. Especially with the shadows the pale green light of Midge’s pip-boy was throwing.

A hand clutched at his arm and MacCready jumped, but he looked down just to see Midge smiling.

“We made it.”

Mac took a shaky breath, “Not yet. It still has to...I mean, I don’t know if—”

Midge rubbed a hand across his back and he shivered, “I know, I know. Just...take a breath, alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Mac tried to roll out some of the tension in his shoulders, “Do I?”

Midge just smiled and lightly tugged him over to the doorway that Dogmeat was still incessantly clawing at. Cait tapped on the terminal on the wall next to it, “Have a lash, Curie.”

Curie squinted at the green lettering scattered across the screen and started typing away. This was it. The cure was supposed to be inside this room. But what if it wasn’t? What if all they found was centuries old science junk and garbage and dust and all of this was for—

“For fuck’s sake, Dogmeat, what’s got your goat?” Midge leaned down to try and soothe a whimpering Dogmeat, but he just barked and leapt slightly at the door, oscillating from paw to paw. MacCready looked up at the rusty doors and squinted, feeling something sour in the pit of his stomach.

A small, happy beep came from the terminal. “Got it! _Mon dieu,_ so many option menus.”

The door slid open with a loud grinding sound, and time seemed to slow as a bright green glow spilled out to greet them.

Oh _no._

MacCready gave Midge a hard shove just as he was thrown onto his back, stars erupting in front of his eyes as the back of his head hit the metal floor. He fought blindly against the crippling weight on top of him before a searing pain erupted in his right shoulder and he heard himself cry out. His brain struggled to keep up as his body flailed and a dark mass crossed above him, and suddenly the weight was gone. There was shouting, screaming, two shots that left his ears ringing, and then a moment of nothing before a face appeared above him. He blinked a few times before Midge came into focus.

“Are you alright?!”

Her voice mixed oddly with the persistent ringing in his ears, and he winced as he tried to sit up and an angry, pounding pain bloomed in his head.

Midge’s hands flew to his shoulders, “Jesus. Careful, Bobby. You hit your head pretty hard. I _heard_ it.”

Her voice broke a little as he reached a hand to the back of his head and found the hair there slightly damp with blood. He drew his hand back and looked at the bloody tips of his fingers. “Shit.”

She gasped a little, “Oh...and it...it burned you. I didn’t know they did that.”

Midge’s hands were shakily roving over his chest and his neck as he looked at the headless corpse of the glowing one a few feet away. “Yeah, they...the glowing ones—” He hissed as her hands reached a spot on his left shoulder near his collarbone over his sweater. Just the barely there brush of her fingers had his skin burning.

“I’m sorry! What is...wait, just lemme find my…”

She trailed off as she searched the floor, and he finally caught up to the fact that her glasses were missing. He blinked again and took in Cait leaning against the metal doorframe, glowing green blood splattered across her boots and her army green cargo pants. Curie had moved inside, starting a thorough search of the rows and rows of shelves that covered the walls of what looked like some sort of lab. Dogmeat whined and nosed lightly at his ear, and MacCready reached absentmindedly to scratch behind his ears. Nevermind the glowing bodily fluids dripping from the fur around his mouth. 

Midge reappeared, adjusting her glasses with a weak smile. “Found them. And my...well, _your_ hat.” She placed it in his lap before tugging lightly at his jacket. “Take this off.”

Mac shook his head, “It’s...don’t worry about it, Midge, we have to—”

“Come on, Bobby.” She met his gaze and tilted her head. “Please just work with me.”

MacCready sighed and groggily nodded, feeling the burning in his shoulder intensify and burrow deeper into his skin. He awkwardly shrugged his bomber jacket off and Midge’s hands flew to the searing pain in his shoulder.

“Oh, _MacCready…_ ”

Mac laughed, “Not good?”

Midge looked up at him and worried her lip, “It’s not...great. You’ll be...it’s gonna be fine.”

MacCready finally gave up and looked down, watching Midge’s hands catalogue the scratches that were quickly festering into burns across his neck and chest. There was a large dark spot on his sweater that was slowly growing. He’d been bitten. No fucking wonder it was burning so bad.

One of Midge’s shaking hands reached to lift his sweater over the bite and he stopped her. “Don’t. We can’t fix it right now anyway.”

“I know, but—” She sighed and bit her lip. “I could—”

Mac shook his head, “Let’s just get what we came for and get the hell out. We can deal with this later.”

Midge gave him a look like she was about to argue but just nodded and stood, fixing her hat back on her head. She offered a hand as he stood with a wince but he waved her off, shrugging his jacket back on and trying not to brush against the painful spot on his shoulder. He slung his rifle over the opposite one as Midge scooped down and held out his hat. 

Mac smiled and took it from her hands, “Thanks.”

She shrugged, “Don’t mention it.”

“MonsieurMacCready!” Curie called, “You said it was a red syringe, yes?”

Mac stepped into the lab as a hole opened up in his stomach, “Uh...yeah. A red syringe. It’s called—”

“ _Prevent!_ ” Curie growled, stomping her foot. “These samples should be alphabetized! This is _chaos!_ ”

Cait snorted, “What’d you expect? This place is fuckin’ _manky_.”

MacCready silently agreed. The whole room was trashed, and probably had been for two centuries. Nevermind the glowing ghoul that had been trapped in her just as long. What if the cure had been destroyed? They could search the old refrigerators and the shelves and sift through all the shit strewn across the cold metal tables for hours and not find anything. 

Midge wrinkled her nose as her eyes roamed over the skeleton laying on a chipped white table in the very center of the room. “Well...I mean there must be some sort of catalogue, right? A place like this would keep track of all the samples and stuff that they had.”

Curie gasped and wagged her finger as she strode over to a small terminal in the corner of the room, “I am right behind you, Miriam!” She sat gingerly on a small stool and started typing away, rows and rows of green text rolling across the screen.

MacCready took his nerves out on the large industrial refrigerator to his right, opening and slamming it shut before he could fully take in the two hundred year old blood filling the shelves. Midge had started to sift through cabinets, and Cait was keeping to herself, evidently not trusting herself to touch anything, Dogmeat sitting obediently at her feet.

That familiar, clawing feeling of hopelessness was starting to crawl up his throat when Curie snapped her fingers, and he looked up from the fourth fruitless refrigerator.

“Containment J! Where is…?”

Cait stopped her leaning against the table and reached the metal cabinet marked J directly to her right. Every muscle in Mac’s body was pulled taught as time dragged on. It seemed to take ages before Cait turned and gave the room a wolf’s smile over her shoulder.

“I guess this means I can cross ‘savin’ a wean’ off my do-gooder bingo?”

She held up a small red syringe, and a firework went off in MacCready’s chest.

Curie hopped from her seat in an explosion of energy, squealing and throwing her hands in the air before throwing her pack on the ground and rifling through it. Dogmeat wagged his tail and barked happily as he wiggled in place, and Cait gave MacCready a large wink as he let himself slump against the door of the ancient refrigerator, each hysterical laugh that came out of his mouth seeming to take just a little bit of the years worth of tension with it. Midge cheered like she’d just won the biggest pot known to man before bouncing up to him and wrapping her arms around his neck. MacCready grabbed her about the waist in return and squeezed, lifting her off the ground. Midge drew her head back to look at his face and he didn’t think, just tipped his head down and crashed his lips into hers.

And the room went so silent Mac was sure everyone could hear the exact moment his heart stopped beating.

He released Midge’s mouth with a small click, mouth agape as he stared into her eyes; wide, shining and bewildered behind her glasses. They were still just a few inches apart. He could feel her breath, warm on his face as he watched it slowly start to fog up her glasses. Midge blinked, and those dark brown eyes slid down and settled on his mouth.

He had to say something. Anything. Apologize. Play it off. It was a joke! Ha ha, silly R.J. MacCready, that rat bastard. 

Cait beat him to it.

“Well, that’s no fair. I found the bloody thing, where’s my kiss?”

MacCready managed a small smile and a laugh, relaxing his arms enough for Midge’s feet to find the floor again as she hurriedly stepped out of his grasp. “Well, you uh...you come over here and I’ll give you one.”

Curie beamed and clicked what looked like a small metal briefcase shut, “Oh, I’ll kiss _all_ of you! The last dose Monsieur MacCready!” She strode over and held out the briefcase, which MacCready took. “And I leave it in your very capable hands. Little Duncan is saved, _le petit ange!_ ” Curie kissed the tips of her fingers and tapped both MacCready and Midge on the nose. Midge let out a nervous laugh, her face still glowing a bright red.

Cait snorted and strode out the door, “I don’t know why I hang out with you people.”

~

By the time they finally made it out of the maze that was the med-tek building, it was snowing. Howling wind, turn the air in front of you white kind of snowing. Midge pointed out that no one in their right mind would want to travel in that, especially since it meant she’d be practically blind because of her glasses, and then told them that the closest place they could get out of the snow for the night was—

“No,” Cait interjected. “Absolutely fuckin’ not.”

Curie frowned as she tugged a large leather jacket over Cait’s shoulders, “What is the problem? Sunshine Tidings sounds very pleasant to me. Is it some sort of comical misnomer?”

Midge sighed. “It’s the only option, Cait. Unless you’re ready to embrace hypothermia. Besides, they’re really not that bad.”

Cait scoffed, “Easy for you to say, _Sunshine._ I haven’t even touched Daytripper since our last visit.”

Midge shook the gathering powder off the bill of her hat, “And that’s a bad thing because…?”

She gave Cait a shit-eating grin and Cait responded with a large eye roll.

“Killjoy.”

So they trudged away, in the wrong direction. Not a huge setback, really. And Midge was right, traveling in what could possibly qualify as a blizzard wasn’t anybody’s idea of a good time. But MacCready couldn’t help feeling jumpy and impatient. He had it, Duncan’s fighting chance to live, right there in his now completely numb hand, and now they were being set back by a snow storm. 

Well, if he didn’t have bad luck, he wouldn’t have any luck at all.

~

“Oh, how pretty!” Curie gasped, still tugging Midge by the hand like she had been the whole trip. “Are they artists, Cait? How exciting! I have always loved creative types.”

Cait snorted as she stomped through the snow, falling less heavily now as it sat on the ground like a powdery blanket. “They’re not _artists._ They’re—”

“A community of like-minded individuals,” Midge interjected, “who believe in freedom, peace and—”

“— _fuckin’_ hippies,” Cait finished, kicking snow into the air as Dogmeat ran through the flurry.

MacCready squinted at the walls coming into view over the snowy hill they were fighting against. They were tall and would probably be pretty imposing, if it weren’t for the multicolored flowers painted all over them. And the peace signs. And the bright yellow smiley faces. The large main gate was decorated with loopy cursive packed tightly together, with phrases like: “All are welcome,” “Free love,” and “Peace, love and harmony inside,” painted in pastel colors over the rotted wood. 

“Oh, my god.” MacCready laughed, “They really are hippies.”

“They’re _nice people,_ ” Midge said pointedly.

“They’re weird,” Cait grumbled. “And so are all the damn robots.”

Curie gasped again, “Robots?”

“Just—” Midge sighed as they reached the gate, “Wait. You’ll see.”

Midge rapped rhythmically on the painted wood of the gate and waited a few seconds, tapping her foot as she wiped her glasses clean. Snow fell off of a branch above them and fell on Dogmeat’s snout, who snarfed it away. Suddenly a head popped up above the wall slightly to the left of the gate, and a man with long, mousy brown hair beamed down at them.

“Heeeey, Sunshine! What brings you to our little corner of paradise on this fine waxing crescent?”

Midge smiled politely back, “Good to see you, Cosmo. Me and my friends here got caught in the snow and we were wondering if—”

The man leaned further over the wall and grinned, “Oh ho! Say no more, hot mama! You and your pals need a place to crash, lemme open up the gate and we can get this party started!”

 _Cosmo_ disappeared back behind the wall, and Midge nervously looked around at the three of them, fiddling with a loose thread on her gloves. There was a large scraping before the gate was thrown open, and Cosmo stretched his arms out in his strange, patchy mohair coat with chunks missing from it, gesturing to the small community.

“Welcome to paradise, brothers and sisters.”

Dogmeat ran straight past all of them and through the gate, and Midge tripped over herself trying to catch him by the collar. “Oh, Dogmeat!” She sighed and adjusted the pack on her shoulders. “Sorry about that, Cosmo.”

MacCready looked around and frowned. He thought ‘paradise’ was probably stretching it a bit. Or a lot. But to be fair, it was probably one of the nicer towns in the Commonwealth, if ‘town’ was really a fitting name for it either. There was a large sign to their right that used to read “Sunshine Tidings Retirement Community,” but the last two words had been crossed out in red paint, and “Co-Op” had been crammed in its place. A large metal barn stood in the center, with crates and tarps and other supplies for the surrounding fields, and the whole place was circled by cabins painted sloppily in nearly every color of the rainbow.

It was sort of nice, he guessed. But Mac couldn’t help rolling his eyes the second he skimmed the large, _Free The Robots!_ sign crookedly nailed to the metal siding of the barn.

“Oh, _brother._ ”

Midge shot him a look over her shoulder, but she didn’t have time to fully scold him. There were more _brothers and sisters_ incoming, and unfortunately for MacCready, he recognized one of them as soon as she ran up, even if she was in some torn up white dress this time instead of one of Hancock’s shirts.

“Cosmo, brother, you’re missin’ out! Hubflower’s totally zonked on smooch and things are gettin’ _crazy_ in the social yurt.” The brunette laughed as she hung onto Cosmo’s chest, and Mac’s brain finally supplied that her name was...something with a V...Vicky! 

Cait elbowed MacCready and muttered out of the side of her mouth, “Did you get any of that?”

Mac whispered back, “Not a single word.”

“Hey, wait a second,” Vicky said, finally turning to face Midge and stretching out her arms with a gleeful grin. “Sunshine! What are you doin’ here?”

Midge pushed her glasses up and offered a small smile, “Uh...we just got caught in the—”

“And you!” She pointed a graceful finger at Cait, “I’ve seen you around Goodneighbor too, muscles.”

Cait smirked as Curie tilted her head, a hand over her heart. “I beg your pardon, mademoiselle, but...are you not cold?”

Vicky giggled and plucked at the tatters of her dress, parting the slit that went all the way up to her hip. “Who, me? Nah, honey lamb. Rocket always gets me hot.”

Curie furrowed her brows, “Rocket? I am not familiar.”

Vicky scrunched her nose and tweaked Curie’s. “You’re cute, sugar. Speaking of…” She looked up and met MacCready’s gaze, before letting her eyes slide over his body. “Good to see you again, MacCready.”

Mac cleared his throat and pulled down the brim of his hat, “Yeah.”

“Hey, Vicky,” Cosmo questioned, “Is that new place still empty? The one Mel built outta the bus?”

Cait’s head popped up, but she didn’t speak. That privilege went to Vicky, who shrugged as she twirled a lock of hair between two fingers. “Ain’t nobody moved in yet.” Her eyes never strayed from MacCready as she spoke, who was starting to feel a little warm himself, if he was being honest. Today was just full of awkward little encounters, huh? Except this one was totally _not_ his fault.

Midge sucked in a breath, “Great! That sounds...just perfect. If you could just point us in the right direction?”

Cosmo pointed past the barn as Vicky sunk her teeth into her bottom lip. “Right over past the moonlight meadows, against the western wall. You’ll know it when you see it. Real groovy set-up.”

MacCready raised an eyebrow, “The _moonlight_ —”

Curie gasped and pointed to a small painted sign stuck lopsided in the dirt in front of one of the fields, “Oh! You mean the razorgrain field, yes? What a lovely way to label farming plots!”

Cait snorted and took Curie’s hand before marching off, “Yeah, _lovely._ Nice to see you lot again.”

Cosmo grinned and waved them off, “Hang loose, red!” Mac heard Cait snort in the distance as Curie swatted her arm, and Cosmo turned back to point at Midge. “Hey...you’re red, too! You two sisters or somethin’?”

Midge let out a breathless laugh, “Uh...no, no we’re not. Thank you so much for your help, Cosmo.” She nodded her head, “Vicky.”

Vicky gave a twinkly wave to a rapidly retreating Midge, “Bye bye, cutie.”

Mac went to follow her, chuckling in disbelief as he passed the stupid sign stuck in front of the razorgrain plot, painted blue and sprinkled with tiny yellow stars, when Vicky’s twinkly voice called him back.

“Oh, MacCreadyyy,” she crooned in an accent that was decidedly non-Bostonian, “Not that I wouldn’t love to watch you go and all, but I was wantin’ to see that handsome face more.”

MacCready turned back to see her leaning against the barn, arms and feet bare despite the temperature, smiling wickedly as she swayed slightly on her feet. Mac smirked and pointed a finger at himself, “This face?”

“The very same,” she said, pushing out a knee and emphasising the high slit in her tattered dress. “I gotta say, seeing you around our little community’s got me surprised. You’re a fox I didn’t think I’d catch in this chicken coop, you know?”

“Yeah…” Sort of. “So, you...frequent this place, or…?”

“Oh, I frequent all sorts of places, sweetie pie,” Vicky said in her strange accent, (Appalachian, maybe? He’d met a few people from around those parts.) before pushing herself off of the metal siding and slinking over to MacCready. She bit down on her bottom lip before tracing a single finger over his jacket zipper and staring up at him through her lashes. “I’m a nomad, see? A free spirit.”

 _And a very practiced flirt,_ MacCready thought. Knew where all her best assets were, too, if the cut of her dress was any indication. He would say that Hancock had a type, but that wasn’t really true. He went through phases. Seasons, almost. So, evidently, busty girls were in this winter.

MacCready stifled a snort at his own joke and cleared his throat, “Yeah, sure. I can get behind that.”

“And why, might I ask, are you inquiring?” Vicky giggled and shook her long hair away from her shoulders. “You makin’ sure you know where to find me when it strikes your fancy?”

Mac raised an eyebrow, “Hancock doesn’t object to you...how’d you call it... _striking people’s fancy?_ ”

Vicky burst into twinkling laughter, throwing her head back before waving a hand in the air, “Psh...you know Hancock. He’s always been known to have a...generous spirit. And I’m sure if he didn’t, he’d make an exception for you, ya handsome devil.” Her small laugh turned into a hiccup and she shrugged, “‘Sides, he’s got sweet baby Lulu to play with while I’m away. Me and Lulu are soul sisters, see?” She locked her pinkies together and wiggled her eyebrows. “We come as a pair, and Johnny boy was _more_ than pleased to have collected the set.”

Holy hell, this girl was high as a kite. Mac gave Vicky a tight smile as he tried to stifle his laughter and took a few steps backwards, “Right. Well...I’ll, uh...I’ll see you around, alright?”

Vicky bit her lip before giving him a secretive little smile, “I sure hope so.”

MacCready gave her a short nod and turned, trudging along the same path the other three had gone. 

“I’m in the Sunflower cabin, by the way. If your night gets a little lonely.”

MacCready cast a wave over his shoulder and didn’t look back.

~

Mac cast a look around and frowned to himself. He was looking for a bus, right? He saw a bright pink cabin with more lawn flamingos in front of it than he’d seen in his whole life, a rusted out trailer, in front of which sat a red-headed man dressed in a Hawaiian print shirt and lounging in a lawn chair, rambling pretentiously to two girls who were hanging on to his every word, but no bus in sight. Something bumped his shoulder and he whipped around to find a mister handy, covered in rainbow handprints with one eyestalk hanging loose.

“Whoa, man…”

MacCready flinched away from the robotic voice and frowned, “Uh...sorry?”

“Far out!”

“Oh...okay?” 

“Groovy!”

“Right…” MacCready took a step back and the robot floated on, dinging itself on a fencepost a little further along. Mac shook his head. Even the robots here seemed stoned out of their melons.

“Don’t mind Professor Goodfeels,” called the red-headed man. “His ‘just be’ protocol makes him a little spacey.”

Mac took in the man's squirrelly physique and the teeny tiny umbrella that was floating in his drink. “Uh huh.”

The man sat up a little and the two girls sitting on the ground huffed with impatience. “You lookin’ for the girls?”

Mac looked around and sighed. “Uh...yeah.”

He pointed to a structure farther off, towards where Professor Goodfeels had hovered off to. “That’s the place you’re looking for. A crash pad of my own design.”

Mac nodded. He must’ve missed it because he was looking for a yellow school bus. This one was white, from what he could see underneath the wooden reinforcements. “Right. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. You _can_ tell Cait that if she takes my advice she’s not allowed to be mad at me anymore, though.”

MacCready was already walking away, “Sure thing, pal.”

He strode over a roughly beaten path until he reached the wooden awning over the bus door. Mac could _feel_ the heat radiating from inside. He could also hear voices arguing inside, however, so he oscillated a bit before pulling open the accordion doors and stepping inside, red light and a wall of heat greeting him as he stepped up the narrow staircase and into the bus, the walls of which were covered in, who would’ve guessed it, painted flowers, each barely two inches in size.

“Holy _shit_ it’s hot in here.”

Curie looked over at him from her spot on the ground, “ _Oui._ Very nice to be out of the cold, is it not?”

“You know he's a con-man, Cait,” Midge said casually, her hands on her hips. 

“A con-man who knows food,” Cait retorted. “And since when do I need permission? I’m not a baby, you know, I do know how to manage meself.”

“You don’t need my permission Cait, I’m just _saying_ that last time I left you alone in a settlement like this—”

Cait stomped her foot and pointed a finger at Midge, “That was premeditated arson and also _not my fault!_ ”

Midge rolled her eyes, “Do you see how you’re the only one getting angry? Try taking up crochet or something, Cait, it might calm you down a little.”

Curie let out a long-suffering sigh, “For goodness sake, _I_ will go with Cait. Although I doubt this ‘Ziggy’ character is as fine a chef as Mel claims. I think he is simply trying to get back into your good graces.”

Cait folded her arms, “And who says I need a babysitter?”

Curie and Midge both responded, “I do.”

“Besides,” Curie added, standing with a small stretch from her cross-legged position, “You get so _very_ angry when you are hungry. _Allons-y._ ”

Cait stomped out of the bus with no amount of ceremony and Curie smiled and rolled her eyes before lightly elbowing MacCready. “Such a cranky little toddler, no?”

“ _Huh?!_ ”

Mac grinned and Curie giggled behind her hand before traipsing down the stairs and shutting the doors behind her, waving goofily through the glass before Cait grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her away. Mac turned towards Midge, who was busy crouched on the ground rifling through her pack for something.

“What was that all about?”

She jumped slightly and looked up, “Oh...oh, that? Um...an old... _friend_ of Cait’s mentioned this great pie that, uh, this guy Ziggy apparently makes and...well, you know Cait, the mere mention of food has her howling like a dog.”

Mac chuckled and raised an eyebrow, “You were arguing over pie?”

Midge tucked a curl behind her ear, refusing to meet his gaze. “Heh...well, she’s sort of...easily agitated recently. She’s sober and everything and it’s...definitely taken its toll. Curie helps her a lot, you know. They’re good for each other.” She let out a small, breathless giggle, “You know she flipped a table a while back because she said I was playing crazy eights wrong? That girl needs a _hobby._ ”

Mac laughed and moved over to one side of the bus, dropping the metal briefcase on the floor and stretching his numb fingers. “That’s weird, I didn’t know they were _together_ together.”

“Oh! Oh, no they’re not. They’re more like...sisters? But not like, young kid sisters, more like...two little old lady sisters who argue all the time. Still pretty adorable.” Mac nodded and dropped his pack off his shoulders, wincing as it scraped against the festering wound in his shoulder. Midge gasped and finally looked directly at him, “Holy shit, your shoulder! Oh, I almost forgot!”

Mac held up a hand, “It’s alright, I can—”

She was already rifling through the things apparently all three of them had just dumped into a corner, “No, it’s not alright! We’ve already let it be for too long. I mean, a feral bite? That’s asking for an infection. Curie’s got all her things here, just give me a second and I’ll take care of it.”

Mac knew that she wasn’t actually wrong, so he relented, sitting with a sigh on a crate against the metal walls of the bus as he tossed his hat. It really _was_ incredibly hot. Whatever crazy heating system they had going on was working overtime. Midge had abandoned her big parka and the two sweaters underneath, now just in her blue jeans and the yellow striped ringer tee shirt he’d seen her in that morning. Mac found himself smiling. Even in the dark, dingy wasteland, Midge was always dressed in something bright. In various states of disrepair, sure, but bright. Like now, in sunshine yellow. Fitting, really.

Midge shuffled over with Curie’s black leather doctor’s bag, dropping it at his feet before opening the metal clasp. She looked up at him and adjusted her glasses.

“You’ll have to, uh...you know…”

She trailed off and loosely gestured to his body, but Mac got the picture anyway. “Oh! Oh, yeah, right.” He peeled off his jacket and Midge sucked in a breath when she spotted the dark stain on the shearling on the inside. Mac tossed the jacket and shrugged, “It’s alright. I mean, it doesn’t really hurt that bad anymore, even. Just feels like...pins and needles.”

Midge looked up, “R.J. I’m pretty sure that’s bad.”

Mac nodded, “Yeah, probably.”

Midge looked up at the small burns striping across his neck and sucked in a breath through her teeth, reaching out a hand before dropping it. She fidgeted slightly, meeting his gaze briefly before turning pink and looking away. 

“Um...if you could just…”

She waved a hand and he nodded, scooting farther down the crate he was on top of until she had room to sit beside him. She did, trying her hardest not to brush against him as she rifled through the bag at her feet before coming up with her hands empty.

“Wait, I think...if it’s a feral bite, then…” She looked up at him and smiled half-heartedly. “Sorry.”

Mac furrowed his brow, “For what?”

“Babbling.”

He shrugged, “Doesn’t bother me.”

A blush bloomed across her cheeks again and she looked down, unsure hands reaching out to the neck of his sweater. “I’m also sorry because I’m gonna have to look at this now.”

Mac sighed, “Go for it, nurse. I’m a big boy, I can take it.”

A nervous laugh bubbled out of her as she shook her head, “I’m sure...yep. Here we go.”

She slowly peeled his sweater and his undershirt away from his skin and MacCready hissed as the sticky fabric seemed to reopen the wound. Midge bit her lip as she pulled at the neckline, “Sorry, I’m...stretching it, and I’m sure this is uncomfortable—”

“I could just take it off.”

Midge blinked, “You could…? Oh. Oh, yeah, of course. Yeah, that would be...that’s probably…”

Mac tore his eyes away from Midge’s rapidly reddening face and shook his head, grabbing his sweater by the hem and slipping both it and his undershirt over his head before tossing it on the bare mattress beside them.

By the look on Midge’s face, he might as well have stripped naked.

Her eyes were wide and her mouth slightly agape as her eyes danced up his torso, and Mac was honestly feeling pretty damn pleased with himself until her eyes drifted to his shoulder.

“Oh, _Bobby…_ ”

He looked down at the angry, jagged bite in his shoulder and the skin that was tinged dark and green around it. 

“Well, that’s not great.”

Midge laughed and shook her head, bending back down to search through Curie’s doctor bag again. “We’ll have to do radaway first.” She pulled out a plastic packet and tore it open. “I hate these little packs that they come in. I don’t know who they think they were helping.”

Mac tried to roll out the strange, stinging, pins and needles feeling that seemed to be set deep in his shoulder. A shaky, cold hand settled on his wrist and he stilled.

Midge held the small need attached to the tube of the radaway in her other hand, staring at him over her glasses. “Ready?”

“Stick me.”

She smiled softly and slowly pressed the needle into the vein in his arm. Just a small pinch before her hands left him and she lifted the bag of amber colored liquid. Mac fidgeted a little in his seat, “I hate this part.”

Midge looked up, “Why?”

Mac shivered as the liquid slowly entered his bloodstream, “Cold. Feels weird.”

Midge smiled twitchily and quickly looked away from his face. Fuck, he’d really messed things up. One stupid impulse that he didn’t even think about and now she couldn’t even look at him. They sat like that, in strange, uncomfortable silence, watching the flimsy plastic bag drain into his arm for what seemed like forever. Mac fidgeted a little and tried to meet Midge’s gaze, but she was bound and determined to stare at the needle in his arm instead of his face.

“Midge?”

She looked up, “Yeah?”

He ran his free hand through his hair, “Listen, about...about what happened in the—”

“Oh—” She shook her head furiously, “No, no, we don’t need to talk about that.”

Mac sighed, of _course_ she didn’t want to talk about it. What else could he possibly have expected? “No, I mean, I just wanted to say that—”

She waved her hand like she was waving away an invisible horde of insects, “No! No, really, I understand! You were excited, you found Duncan’s cure, you...you know a lot of...stressors, and things...it’s totally...it’s expected even! Don’t even worry about it. I’m not worried about it. Haven’t given it a second thought. Just...you were overexcited! That’s all. Hold still.”

She slipped the needle from his skin and tossed the remaining plastic. Mac frowned and shifted a little in his seat. “Right...well, I’m still sorry.”

“Psh. No need. Really. Totally fine.”

Mac raised an eyebrow as he frowned down at the back of her head. “Well, look at me then! You’re over there fidgeting like a damn rabbit.”

Midge did turn around to look at him, laughing the whole way and making a point to look him in the eye, “I’m sorry, okay! You’re—” she waved her hands in his general direction, “in a state of undress!”

Flimsy excuse, but Mac decided to let it slide. “I’m in a _what?!_ ”

“Oh, shut up,” she said, producing a small jar of clear liquid and a tin box from Curie’s bag. 

“Look, if my incredible physique is distracting you, just say so.”

“It’s—” Midge growled and shook her head, “How about I take my shirt off and we’ll see if you have trouble maintaining eye contact, huh?”

Mac put his hands in the air, “You do whatever you feel is necessary, nurse. You’re the medical professional.”

Midge laughed and shook her head, opening the tin container and soaking one of the square pieces of cotton inside with what he guessed was antiseptic from the clear bottle. “You’re ridiculous.”

“ _You’re_ ridiculous.”

“Whatever,” she lifted her hand, studying the bite in his shoulder and overall looking grumpy. “I hate being left handed. This is a very...strange angle...that I’m working with, here.”

Mac smirked, “Well, here. Get up.” Midge frowned at him for a second but stood, yelping when he spun her by the hips and sat her down in his lap. “That better?”

Midge pouted, “You are so _gruff_ , you know that?”

He grinned, leaving his hands on her hips. “I’m vaguely aware.”

Mac hissed as Midge starting dabbing antiseptic on the open wounds on his shoulder, and he could’ve _sworn_ he saw a sneaky smile appear on Midge’s face. “Gruff is actually the perfect word for you, now that I think about it.”

MacCready chuckled, “Oh, yeah?”

“Always grabbing me.”

“Always is a stretch.”

“Or _pinching_ me.”

“ _Once._ ”

“Or kissing me in the basement of a research facility.”

“Hey!” Midge burst into giggles and Mac smiled back, “I thought I was forgiven!”

“You _are,_ but your penance is that I get to bring it up whenever I want and make fun of you a little bit.”

Mac sighed and leaned his head back against the metal wall of the bus. His eyes caught the disco ball hanging in the center of the ceiling, not spinning, just reflecting the yellow lamp on the opposite end of the bus, throwing squares of yellow light into the redness coming from the red light bulb screwed above the door. It was kind of cool in here, now that he was thinking about it. The tiny little flowers seemed like they must have taken a long time to paint. He looked at Midge and smiled. She was so focused. And so...delicate with the way she was cleaning the wound on his shoulder. Maybe delicate wasn’t the word. Gentle. That was the thing about her, she was always gentle. Or, her hands were, anyway. Her free hand was resting on his other shoulder, and it was just as feather light. It was kind of fun to watch those hands work, sometimes. Just random, everyday things looked so graceful. He could watch her make tea all day, or sew a patch in her sweater, or shuffle playing cards. Which was weird. That was a weird thing to think about somebody's hands, right?

But it was that face. God, that face. No wonder the minute Mac had gotten a good look at it in that horrible place he’d planted one on her. Half of him wished he hadn’t. Not there. Not in someone gross, ghoul ridden basement. That felt like...an injustice, for sure. But, _fuck,_ the other half of him was overjoyed. Because as stupid as it was, and as horribly unplanned, and as terrible of a location, _she kissed him back._

He’d felt it. The tilt of her head and the squeeze of her arms around his neck and those soft, albeit freezing cold, lips relaxing and parting ever so slightly in those few seconds. She’d kissed him back. 

And what was her excuse, huh?

“So…”

Mac’s train of thought halted and he shook his head slightly to clear it. “Hm?”

“Vicky’s a very pretty girl.”

MacCready raised an eyebrow, “You think?”

She scoffed and raised an eyebrow, “Oh, come on. Don’t be like that.”

Mac frowned at her half-scolding face, “Like what?”

Her hand left his shoulder as she adjusted her glasses. “I just didn’t know you...knew each other, is all.”

Oh. _Oh._ Mac shook his head, “No, no, it’s not...she’s one of Hancock’s girls.”

“Oh.” She tossed the spent cotton square where the plastic remnants of the radaway were before trying to shift off of his lap, but Mac held her in place. Midge sighed, “Can I get a stimpak, or do you _want_ an infection?”

“I dunno, it’s kind of a toss up.”

She snorted before scooping down to retrieve one of the syringes, returning to his lap without thinking about it. Win for MacCready. She rubbed a thumb over the vein in his arm before inserting the needle, more confidently this time around. “You know, I just thought...since Hancock said that you two had dated some of the same girls before and all—”

MacCready laughed, “No, that’s not...no. That’s not what he was referring to at all.”

She looked confused. “Oh. Okay?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Alrighty then.” She rubbed a thumb over a spot on his neck, and Mac really hoped she didn’t catch the shiver that just zipped through him. “Oh, it even helped these burns, too. Good. I wasn’t sure what to do about them. I’d bandage the bite, but being where it is I’m not sure it matters.”

Mac shrugged, “Eh. I’ll sleep it off.” There was a small moment of silence before he continued, “I only really met her today. I’ve never...we’ve never even spoken before.”

He didn’t really know why he was saying it, just that he felt like he needed to. Midge nodded, “Oh. Well, she must just be...an intensely friendly person. You hung back to talk and I just thought—”

“No, it wasn’t...she just wanted to...I mean, there was an _offer,_ but—”

“Well, you should’ve taken it. Like I said, she’s a very pretty girl.”

 _I’ve got a very pretty girl right here in my lap, why go chasing after some other one?_ “Nah, I turned her down.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Oh my _god,_ this was ridiculous. She was in his fucking lap, for shit’s sake, and she was trying to convince him to go see about some other girl? What was wrong with her? With him? With the _both_ of them?

Mac looked into her questioning eyes and tightened his hands around her waist.

“Maybe I’m into redheads.”

Midge rolled her eyes, “Oh, _please_ —”

“Maybe I am,” he repeated, pulling her closer and letting his hand slip up her back, past the narrow strip of skin between her jeans and her itty bitty tee shirt, and settling between her shoulder blades as he felt her shiver underneath his palms. “Would that be so bad?”

Midge froze for a second, lips slightly parted as she stared, wide-eyed, before slowly shaking her head. “No.”

“No?”

“No, it...it wouldn’t be so bad.”

A loud crashing followed by urgent shushing and incessant giggling had Midge hopping off of his lap, straightening her hair and adjusting her glasses just in time to watch Curie and Cait stumble up the bus stairs, red in the face and trying in vain to stifle their laughter.

Curie produced a dish she’d been hiding underneath her coat, “We...we stole pie!”

Cait shut the accordion door behind them before snorting and holding up a dark bottle, “And wine!”

They both fell again into hysterical laughter, leaning against each other's shoulders and half-heartedly trying to shush each other. Midge let out a bark of a laugh as Cait dragged a rickety side table to the middle of the floor. “You _what?_ ”

Curie dropped the pie tin primly on top of the table, “We’re having a party!”

“Fuck yeah, we are,” Cait said, fishing around in her pockets and throwing two metal mugs at Midge and MacCready. Midge caught it and smiled.

“What did you two get yourself into?”

Curie fished out four forks from her pockets and held them up, “Grand theft cutlery!”

Midge threw her head back and laughed as Curie sat down on the floor, and Mac decided to join the small circle forming around the flimsy table. “What are we celebrating?”

Curie sat cross-legged on the floor, sticking one of the forks in the middle of the pie before pointing up at MacCready. “You, silly!”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you, muscles.” Cait grabbed him by the arm and brought him down to the floor with her, “You and your little ankle biter, that is.”

Curie held out her mug, “We must toast!”

“Right.” Cait uncorked the bottle with her teeth and filled Curie’s mug, then Mac’s before nodding towards Midge. “You gonna have some, poindexter? Let us corrupt you a little?”

Midge rolled her eyes and held out her cup, pulling a cheer from Mac, Curie and Cait. MacCready took a sniff from his cup as the wine bubbled into Midge’s and wrinkled his nose. Sharp and sour. But hey, he’d definitely drank worse. Probably. Curie wiggled a little in her seat and held up her cup, “Alright! To teamwork!”

Cait held up the bottle, “To getting rid of some nasty ass ghouls.”

Curie giggled, “And to little Duncan’s health! Santé!”

Cait grinned, “Sláinte.”

Mac fought down the tightness in his chest as their glasses clinked above the table, “Uh, cheers?”

Midge chuckled, “L'Chaim.”

Mac swallowed a mouthful of the wine and winced. _Horrible._ Bitter and incredibly fucking sour. Just plain old rotten fruit in a bottle. Curie coughed and waved a hand in front of her face, and Midge gagged into her cup beside him.

“Holy _fuck_ that’s awful.”

Curie nodded, her voice coming out strained, “I would have to agree with you, Miriam.”

Cait, who had taken a swig straight from the bottle, shrugged. “I’ve drank worse.”

Mac put his fist to his chest and cleared his throat, “So have I.” He coughed again, “Not _much_ worse, though.”

Midge shook her head, “Where did you even get this?”

“They were havin’ some sort of fuckin’ pow-wow. A shitty party, is what it looked like.”

“They were playing bongos,” Curie added, giggling behind her hand. “And chanting! Horrible! Simply horrible!”

“So, we got what we came for,” Cait continued, grabbing the fork stuck in the middle of the pie and scooping out some of the filling, “and got the fuck out.” She hummed happily and sat back against the wall behind her before speaking around her mouthful of pie, “Now, _that’s_ what I’m talkin’ about. Fuck it, Mel’s forgiven.”

Midge chuckled, “He didn’t know you were breaking into Hancock’s warehouse, either. That was all little miss No-Nose.”

Cait took another bite of pie and pointed a finger at Midge, “He was an accomplice.”

“ _You_ were an accomplice, too!”

Mac held up a hand, “Wait a minute, Cait, _you_ were the one that got into Hancock’s storeroom?”

Curie glared over at Cait, “ _Yes._ ”

She held up a finger, “I was misled!”

Curie folded her arms, “Oh, pardon me, I forgot, she thought she was breaking into _Diamond City’s_ strongroom.”

Mac laughed, “Okay, well _that_ I can get behind.”

Cait snorted and elbowed MacCready in the side, “See? Mister half-naked gets it. MacCready understands the _hustle._ ”

Mac grinned and wiggled his eyebrows at Midge, who dramatically rolled her eyes as she pulled the elastic out of her hair and shook out her braid. Mac watched the curls fall around her shoulders and smiled, a smile Midge returned when she caught him staring. All at once, MacCready had a very familiar feeling of being in a bubble that was just about to be popped.

Curie took a bite of pie and looked around the bus, “Did Dogmeat not come back, Miriam?”

Midge jumped a little and froze, staring blankly into space for a second before falling back against the floor. “Ah, _fuck._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So, yeah. This may have taken me a month, but it's here now! Am I worried I shoved a lot in this chapter and it comes off really rushed and lacking depth? Yes! But it's okay! Totally fine!
> 
> AND THEY KISSED?!?!?! SORT OF?!?!?!
> 
> Things are happening. Next chapter will come out very soon, I think, and we'll be back in Goodneighbor. 
> 
> As always, let me know what you guys think! 💕


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